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The FLUTE of PAN 










































































































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And yet — you don’t believe in me 


do you ? ” 


The 

FLUTE of PAN 


By 

JOHN OLIVER HOBBES 

Author of “The Vineyard,” etc. 



D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
NEW YORK 
1905 


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Copyright, 1905, by 
THE KNICKERBOCKER PRESS 

Copyright, 1905, by 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 


Published November , 1905. 

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* Her heart is but o’ercharged; she will recover: 
I have too much believed my own suspicion.” 


“ Bards of Passion and of Mirth, 

Ye have left your souls on earth! 

Have ye souls in heaven too, 
Double-liv’d in regions new? 

On the earth ye live again; 

And the souls ye left behind you 
Teach us, here, the way to find you. 
Where your other souls are joying. 
Never slumber’d, never cloying. 

Here, your earth-born souls still speak 
To mortals, of their little week; 

Of their sorrows and delights.” 



INTRODUCTION 


A friend of mine , who holds a distinguished 
position at one of the foreign courts , keeps , in 
his somber bureau at the War Office, a beautiful 
miniature statuette of the god Pan . The exquis- 
ite ornament seemed more than ordinarily stri- 
king in such grim surroundings, and I begged 
my friend to tell me its history . It was a gift, 
he informed me, from the hereditary princess 
of a country which I must call Siguria. Then, 
as he was well aware of my psychological inter- 
ests, he proceeded to tell me a tale which pleased 
me so much that I made it into a romance, and 
also into a comedy. There are things in the 
romance which are omitted from the comedy, 
and there are things in the comedy which are 
omitted from the romance, and each must be 
regarded as a work quite independent of the 
other. An artist may paint any number of views 
of the same object, and a writer is allowed the 
same liberty. Thus, little essays are worked 


INTRODUCTION 


out into long histories, an anecdote may grow 
into a drama, and one passage from a biography 
may easily become an epic in many volumes . 
The letters, and journals, and documents — 
placed by my friend at my disposal — the actual 
facts of the story, have been as little tampered 
with as possible, and although I hope that no 
one will attempt to penetrate the necessary dis- 
guise of the characters represented, I also hope 
that no one will question the intrinsic truthful- 
ness of the narrative as set down . 

The tale is mainly a love-tale, and it is notori- 
ously difficult to ascertain what conversations 
really pass between lovers . Either they do not 
remember what they say, or they do not know 
what they say, or — which is likely enough — they 
do not choose to take the world into their confi- 
dence. In this instance, however, I submitted 
my dialogue to the principal speakers, and they 
agreed, separately, and, to the best of my knowl- 
edge, without any secret understanding, that 
although they possibly said more than I have 
attributed to them, they did not say less. 

J. O. H. 


viii 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Mother Removes an Eyelash from Her 

Eye ....... i 

II. In which a Recluse is Glad to See a Friend 9 

III. Which Describes a Rendezvous . . 27 

IV. Which Describes an Encounter . . 37 

V. In which Wires are Pulled for a Good 

Motive ...... 67 

VI. In which Three People are Nervous . 80 

VII. In which an Angry Gentleman is Soothed 90 

VIII. Containing the Plain Language of a 

Pretty Lady ..... 96 

IX. In which a Gallant Gentleman is Twisted 

Round a Virtuous Finger . . .109 

X. Which Describes a Ceremony and the 

Unceremonious . . , . .122 

XI. Some Unusual Love-Making . . .135 

XII. Which is Not Tender . . . .153 

XIII. Which Describes Some High Thinking 

During the Small Hours . . .158 


IX 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XIV. Which Contrasts Enthusiasm with the 
Want of it 

XV. In which Small Fry Discuss High Mat- 
ters ...... 

XVI. The Effect of a Mood on Furniture 
and Statesmanship .... 

XVII. Which Describes an Exhibition of Proper 
Pride ...... 

XVIII. Another Argument Against the Decep- 
tiveness of Evidence 

XIX. Which Describes a Coincidence and Some 
Misunderstandings .... 

XX. In which Two Princes Lose Their Tem- 
pers and a Princess Keeps Hers 

XXI. Which is Short but Important 

XXII. The Clock is Mended .... 

XXIII. The Contents of a Little Book in a 
Dressing-case ..... 

XXIV. Which Illustrates the Necessity of 
Hearing Both Sides of a Grievance . 

XXV. The Effect of Love-Songs and Vinegar 
on the Heart ..... 

XXVI. Which Describes the Frou-Frou of a 
Skirt and the Piping of a God 


page 

167 

*79 

187 

197 

206 

213 

223 

236 

242 

2 49 
272 

279 

287 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 

PAGE 

And yet — you don’t believe in me, do you?” 

Frontispiece 

I don’t approve of the marriage” . . .120 

These are historical — they are magnificent!” . 132 

You have beaten me in generosity at every 

point” ....... 290 







* 























































\ 


























CHAPTER I 



A MOTHER REMOVES AN EYELASH FROM 
HER EYE 

^ORIS, Viscount Berkele, fifteenth 
Earl of Feldershey, having refused 
to enjoy the advantages of his title 
and possessions, took some canvases 
and one hundred pounds to Venice, where he 
hired three rooms in an old palace, and estab- 
lished a small school of art. He accepted no 
money for his lectures, and, although a certain 
number of the curious went immediately to hear 
what he had to say, he was considered a person 
of talent but insufficient reasoning power. The 
inheritor, in a direct line, of one of the few 
old English peerages (created 1491), a soldier 
who had won great distinction during the South 
African war, the owner of large means inherited 
from an American grandmother, why should 
he suddenly adopt a line of conduct which the 
normal deplored as mad, and the hypocritical 



THE FLUTE OF PAN 


praised as rather fine, and the cynical dismissed 
as an intolerable pose? 

“ He attitudinizes; he is a charlatan; he is 
playing to the gallery.” There was little left 
to add except the conclusion that he was actually 
dangerous. Those who despise artificial privi- 
leges do not attract those who make artificial 
privileges worth while : Berkele, by his scornful 
renunciation of rank and wealth, cast a slight but 
distinct slur upon the two finest securities in the 
market, and the sensible majority who have la- 
bored, and labor, under heavy difficulties, to 
keep such things immune from the profanity of 
the disillusioned, determined to treat Berkele as 
a fanatic, and, probably, an atheist. He had 
also molested a Prime Minister by asking him, 
at a dinner-party, whether he had ever read one 
of Tolstoy’s works. u I don’t think I intend to 
read Tolstoy,” was the politician’s temperate 
reply. 

Women liked Berkele because he was known 
to have been susceptible to beauty once, and 
to have led an amorous life as a Guardsman 
before the war. Rumor had associated his 
name with that of the prettiest princess in 
Europe — an exceedingly attractive, dashing, 
imprudent, brilliant princess, who broke hearts 


2 


REMOVES AN EYELASH 


and disregarded etiquette merely because she 
wanted to enjoy herself. She lived for pleasure. 
Women, who heard the story, expected, with 
the sentimental optimism of their sex, that the 
love-lorn Feldershey would marry eventually 
some dear, darling girl, and modify his reac- 
tionary ideas. He had now reached the moment 
in a man’s career — between the ages of thirty- 
five and forty — when he shows his mettle, and 
takes the step, in some secret or open way, which 
leads to his ultimate place among the weak 
or the strong — a truer division of humanity 
than the ordinary distinctions which classify 
them as the good and the bad, or the rich and 
the poor, or the happy and the unhappy. Many 
of the rich are good and happy, many of the 
poor are bad and strong; many of the rich are 
strong and wretched, many of the poor are 
weak and happy: the play on these conditions 
is as various as the combinations of notes in the 
musical scale, but strong or weak one must be. 
To this fact Berkele was awake, and when his 
mother, Lady Feldershey, arrived full of tears, 
protests, and gifts in his bare studio overlooking 
the lagoon a few days before his thirty-seventh 
birthday, he owned that he had reached a crisis, 
no doubt, although he felt as he had been feeling 
3 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


for a considerable time, and he could not pre- 
tend to see two yards in front of his nose — so 
far as his future was concerned. 

“You are quite good-looking enough for a 
man, and your smile was always charming,” said 
Lady Feldershey, answering a malicious jibe 
which she had received in London with regard 
to the reformation which is apt to accompany 
a ruined appearance or shattered health. 

This was the jibe — 

“ If St. Ignatius had not been wounded at 
Pampeluna, should we have heard so much 
about the Jesuits? If only the beautiful and 
contented and young were allowed to sit in judg- 
ment, what different verdicts we should get on 
social sinners ! ” 

Lady Feldershey repeated this — not to annoy 
her son, but to warn him of the dreadfully 
intelligent among his critics. 

“ You were not wounded, and you are not 
plain,” she continued; “ why, then, do you have 
these extraordinary notions, and live in this 
hole? People will soon say that there must be 
something wrong. They are bound to say it. 
When I think of the magnificent career you have 
abandoned, it is enough to kill me ! When the 
King asked me at Ascot where you were and 
4 


REMOVES AN EYELASH 


what you were doing, I nearly sank into the 
ground ! His look ! my confusion ! ” 

She was interrupted by the arrival of his 
pupils — a mixed rabble, as she described them 
afterward, of American, German, English, and 
French persons of both sexes. Some stood; 
some sat on the floor; some listened eagerly; 
while the rest, because the lectures were free, 
paid no attention to the lecturer’s remarks, but 
stared at each other, at him, and at Lady Felder- 
shey. Her ladyship could make nothing of 
Berkele’s address, which seemed to her quite 
preposterous and an enormous mistake. 

“ What is it all about? ” thought his mother; 
“ I wish he wouldn’t.” 

Suddenly her attention was arrested by a rosy 
German woman about forty-two, who had taken 
an armchair as though it belonged to her, and 
was stitching at some needlework as though it 
was her habit to sew in the studio. Once Lady 
Feldershey caught the stranger’s eyes — which 
were as blue as a Cloisonne vase and curiously 
mild. 

At the end of an hour the audience dispersed. 
The German lady remained behind, and was 
presented by Berkele to Lady Feldershey as the 
Frau von Sender. 


2 


5 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ Your son,” said the Frau, “ will have 
me here as a chaperon. He is dreadfully 
nervous with innocent young ladies who love 
art.” 

Lady Feldershey gave her a glance of unre- 
strained suspicion, but the eyes of Cloisonne 
blue remained constant. 

“ Lord Feldershey is a great genius,” ob- 
served the Frau. 

“ Well,” said Lady Feldershey, in a resigned 
tone, “ I suppoose one mustn’t quarrel with 
Providence.” 

“ And so kind with it all — such a heart ! ” 

“ You are the first lady who has accused him 
for many years of having a heart,” said Lady 
Feldershey — “ except for his mother,” she 
added. 

The Frau von Sender smiled once more and 
took her departure, while Lady Feldershey, with 
a sigh of relief, sank into a chair and looked her 
son up and down as though he were a life-size 
object in a museum. 

“ Now,” she said, “ I hope you see the folly 
of your extraordinary notions. They are very 
beautiful upon paper, but they won’t wash ! 
And they are inconsistent.” 

The young man, who was wondering how he 

6 


REMOVES AN EYELASH 


could spend the rest of his day, replied with 
petulance : 

“What is inconsistency to me? The world 
is ruled by moods — by moods, my dear mother. 
Don’t talk to me now.” 

“ My dear boy, if I don’t talk now, I shall 
never get a moment with you. I’ve come all 
the way to Venice in order to talk to you. You 
have put me off the whole morning, but I will 
have my say. One reason why you left society 
was because you could no longer meet the Prin- 
cess Margaret there. People go into society 
to meet the people whom they wish to meet; 
if they don’t meet them, they call it hollow! 
And I have remained a widow all these years 
entirely for your sake.” 

Feldershey was touched. 

“ Dear creature,” said he, “ why have you 
been so unselfish? ” 

“ Because I am not full of rash and wild 
ideas. I have nothing except a sense of duty.” 

“ Do you think me selfish? ” said Feldershey, 
walking about the room. 

“ My poor child,” said his mother, “ you 
are an egoist of the first water! The moment 
the world got on your nerves you left it. You 
may call it Tolstoy; I call it temper. You have 
7 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


always wanted to be out-of-the-way and original. 
You are like no one else in the family.” 

“ I have always been conscious of that ! ” 
said he, turning pale with annoyance. 

Lady Feldershey pretended to remove an eye- 
lash from her eye, and that silence, which the 
serene attribute to the passing of some invisible 
angel, entered the studio. 



8 



CHAPTER II 

IN WHICH A RECLUSE IS GLAD TO SEE 
A FRIEND 

ELDERSHEY was over thirty when 
he first began to paint, and his voca- 
tion came as suddenly to him as it 
came to Corot, who at the same age 
left a draper’s shop in order to study nature. 
But whereas Corot was the son of a success- 
ful milliner and a prosperous tradesman, from 
whom he inherited patient diligence, Felder- 
shey chafed under instruction, and had no in- 
dustry. The hard-and-fastness of his will, how- 
ever, made him seem persevering when he was 
merely obstinate; he toiled at the craft of his 
art because he would not be beaten by tasks, 
no matter how irksome, which younger men had 
conquered. At last, his pictures were exhibited 
in official exhibitions: at thirty-seven, he was 
made a Knight of the Legion of Honor. Corot, 
9 




THE FLUTE OF PAN 


it is true, produced masterpieces for nearly 
thirty years before he received the same tribute, 
but he had genius, and belonged to the burgess 
class, while Feldershey had talent only, and 
was a personage in fashionable society every- 
where. It was considered that his inclusion 
among the Knights gave tone to the whole 
Legion of Honor; that he conferred more than 
he received, in accepting any formal acknowl- 
edgment of his artistic success. A distinction, 
therefore, which might have helped the greater 
man by smoothing his way with picture-dealers, 
meant nothing at all to Feldershey. This is 
one reason why it was given to him, and also 
one reason why he despised what are called the 
world’s prizes. He did not think himself medi- 
ocre, but he had sense enough to know that 
an honor which he could share with Corot was 
too loose to fit either of them properly. He 
painted well, nevertheless; he had a charming 
imagination; a great deal of feeling, which led 
him into dangers; a kind heart, which delivered 
him from much evil; a bad temper, which made 
his relations with men and women frequently 
difficult. Animals he could beat and the inani- 
mate he could smash, but human beings, because 
they required more subtle treatment, disturbed 


A RECLUSE SEES A FRIEND 


his nerves. Although his friends liked him, they 
were not wholly devoted to him. He was cold to 
his equals, and he acknowledged no man his su- 
perior — except in intellect — a thing he did not 
covet. He was always at his best with subordi- 
nates and servants, whom he could command or 
ignore or commend — without fear of commit- 
ting himself to any fixed policy; for he had a 
jealous dread of compromising his right to 
change his mind and manner twenty times a 
day — if he so chose. Such a temperament does 
not make for happiness either in itself or 
in its surroundings. If Feldershey had found 
any pleasure in his egoism, it would have been 
unpardonable; but he took no pleasure in it, 
and therefore he was forgiven. It was clear 
to the thoughtful that he disliked most people 
because he really disliked himself. If a man 
cannot love himself, whom he can justify as a 
rule, how can he love the stranger, whom he 
does not understand in the least? The first 
notes in a man’s harmonious relations with the 
universe must be struck in unison with his own 
soul and his own conscience. Feldershey, with 
discord in his being, could hear nothing melodi- 
ous in the world. There were days and nights 
when he asked himself: “What is the matter 


II 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


with me?” and there were moments when he 
caught a kind of answer: “Selfishness.” For 
a week, after hearing such an answer, he would 
perform acts of Quixotic self-sacrifice: cross his 
own will at every turn; thwart perversely every 
inclination; call on bores; smile upon the plain; 
show courtesies to his relations, the aged and 
infirm; in other words, put himself to every 
inconvenience as much as possible against the 
grain. For a week he could persevere in this 
course, but the relapse was as inevitable as the 
effort. He would say: “I’m afraid I’m not 
steadfast.” He would feel a degree of shame 
at his insincerity, but he accepted it. “After 
all,” he would think, “ nearly everybody is in- 
sincere; why make such a fuss because one is 
shallow?” Had he been wholly shallow, he 
would not, of course, have known it. This fact, 
too, helped the thoughtful to consider him with 
tolerance and hope. 

On the day of his mother’s arrival in Venice, 
he was unusually dissatisfied with his new scheme 
of living. It had not quite answered. He 
could not rid himself of the feeling that it was 
as artificial as the frankly insincere existence 
which had bored him to such an excessive pitch 
in London. 


12 


A RECLUSE SEES A FRIEND 


“ Ce n^est pas ga, du tout” he kept murmur- 
ing to himself, “ ce West pas ga.” 

He had no desire to rejoin the set he had 
renounced in scorn, but he could not tell him- 
self that his present circumstances were right. 
Meditations were bad for him, because he had 
never been trained to think: he could feel and 
he could take action, but thought on a pro- 
longed scale never failed to produce an unavail- 
ing melancholy in his mind. To-day his mood 
was interrupted by a confident ring at his studio 
bell. He had not been so delighted for weeks 
at the prospect of seeing a caller of any kind. 
He flung back the door, and, on observing 
there an extremely smart, well-groomed young 
Englishman of about seven-and-twenty in yacht- 
ing clothes, he shouted at the top of his 
lungs : 

“Hullo, Baverstock! What a surprise! 
What in the world brings you to Venice? ” 

Mr. Baverstock, overwhelmed by the unex- 
pected warmth of his reception, flushed boyishly 
with pleasure, and thought within himself: 

“ People never do Feldershey justice. He is 
full of heart, really, if you once break the ice.” 

“ I’m here with my yacht,” said he, “ all by 
myself. I’m getting to like solitude — that kind 

*3 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


of thing. Never been here before; it’s not half 
bad.” 

“What about your business?” said Felder- 
shey, who at the sight of Baverstock suddenly 
remembered the usual English amusements of 
the rich. 

“ The business,” said Baverstock, “ has been 
turned into a company. I’ve amalgamated my 
father’s jam business with my uncle’s pickles. 
There was always a rivalry. When I think 
how the governor worked all through his youth, 
and how my uncle toiled and moiled, I’m full 
of gratitude to ’em. I am, really.” 

“ It’s enough to bring the tears to any one’s 
eyes,” said Feldershey ironically. 

Harry Baverstock had his own ideas of cour- 
tesy, and he returned Feldershey’s compliments 
by asking him, with a genuine sort of interest, 
what he was painting. Feldershey glanced ten- 
derly toward a picture which stood upon an 
easel in a corner of the vast, bleak studio. 

“ I call it,” said he, “ ‘ The Flute of Pan.’ ” 

Baverstock marched up to the work, and 
stood in front of it with his legs apart and his 
hands behind his back as though he were watch- 
ing a cricket-match. 

“ That’s rather decent,” said he, at last. 
14 


A RECLUSE SEES A FRIEND 


“ I’m not much of a judge of art myself, but 
I’ll buy that as soon as you want to get rid 
of it. What does it mean? ” 

“ Pan was a heathen god,” said Feldershey, 
“ who could guide lost travelers and calm all 
storms by the magic of his flute. I am showing 
him leading some pilgrims who have lost their 
way. They hear him piping, and are encour- 
aged. It is a parable of modern life. We 
torment ourselves with boredom and scruples, 
whereas all we need is more music, more joy I 
We must listen to the flute of Pan. It is always 
playing, but we drown it with our wretched bab- 
ble of philosophies, the noise of machinery, the 
turmoil of money-making.” 

Baverstock held his own forehead : 

“ Where was it I heard that you had taken 
up with the Tolstoy ideas? But don’t explain 
them now, dear old chap. And you really live 
on ten shillings a week — including gas?” he 
added, as he observed Feldershey placing a 
kettle on a gas-stove. “ It is awfully interesting 
to meet a chap who has really done that, you 
know. I respect it myself — wouldn’t do it for 
anything, but I think it is fine — no flattery, 
either. I believe you’re genuine over it. I 
wonder how long you will keep it up.” 

15 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ The gods may think I am enjoying my re- 
nunciation too much. Tell me what you have 
been doing all this time.” 

Baverstock became self-conscious; pulled 
down his waistcoat; bent his head a little on one 
side to inhale the scent of the carnation in his 
buttonhole,, 

“ I went for a big shoot in Siguria. It was 
very jolly — a lot of nice tame bears — that sort 
of thing — met some nice people — got in with 
the royalties. I’m not a snob, but you may say 
what you like, you get a run for your money 
if you are in that set.” 

“ I used to know the Princess Margaret,” 
said Feldershey; “ I knew her when she was 
a child. She was an exile in England then, and 
lived with her mother — the late princess — at 
one of my father’s places — Berkele Abbey.” 

“ I remember hearing about that. Your 
father lent them the place for the autumn, and 
they sat tight in it for nine years.” 

Feldershey left his picture and sat down on 
the models’ pedestal, which he used as a plat- 
form during his lectures. 

“ The little princess and I played croquet to- 
gether,” he said; “ in fact, we played croquet 
till the dynasty was restored.” 

16 


A RECLUSE SEES A FRIEND 


“And didn’t you see the princess after that? ” 
asked Baverstock, who had heard from others 
a good deal of gossip on the subject of Felder- 
shey’s unfortunate and unsuitable attachment. 

“ She and I were very good friends,” said 
Feldershey. 

“Then why didn’t you marry her? Earls 
and dukes used to marry royalties — they were 
in the running, anyhow. It was very good busi- 
ness. After all, ain’t you half royal? Didn’t 
that classy old grandmother of yours catch a 
royal grand duke? Ain’t you a prince yourself 
in Russia, sir? — Prince Bolkonsky! ” 

“What does that matter to Margaret? I 
wish she had been the daughter of a washer- 
woman. If I could find the ideal daughter of 
the ideal washerwoman, I’d marry to-morrow. 
This, as man to man. And now tell me about 
Margaret’s old stepfather, Prince Adolf.” 

“ Didn’t you know that he was in Venice? ” 

“ I hear nothing in my workshop.” 

“ The princess is here too.” 

Feldershey gave a violent start. 

“ She is here incognito, for the rest,” con- 
tinued Baverstock. “ She has taken three floors 
at Danielli’s. No palaces for her — she wants 
a little comfort.” 


17 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ So she is in Venice,” said Feldershey, and 
he thought he understood why he had been feel- 
ing strangely restless all that morning. He fell 
into a reverie from which he was roused by 
Baverstock’s voice declaring : 

“ I have said it three times : I say, I’ve come 
to ask a favor.” 

“ Of course,” said Feldershey, still lost. 

“ Will you lend me your studio for half an 
hour this afternoon? Some one I want to 
see. I can’t call at her place, because she is 
hemmed in on every side. She can’t come to 
my hotel, and we really want some serious 
conversation.” 

“Husband in Venice?” said Feldershey 
dryly, but interested in spite of himself. 

His friend blushed and avoided his eye. 

“ It is for a farewell interview, you see.” 

“ Oh, a farewell — then you’ve seen some one 
you like better ! ” 

“ You used to say much cleverer things than 
that!” 

“ It takes a farewell interview to make a man 
really epigrammatic ! ” 

“ Well,” said Baverstock, moving away, ab- 
sorbed in his own thoughts, “ it isn’t so much 

a farewell as a clear understanding ” 

18 


A RECLUSE SEES A FRIEND 


“About the future or the past? ” 

“ No, don’t chaff. It’s a tragic thing, really, 
and I knew you were good-natured, and — as a 
matter of fact — I told her to come here.” 

“ Oh, you told her to come — at what time? ” 

“ Well, she is generally late ” 

“ Generally ! ” said Feldershey, raising his 
eyebrows. “ Oh, these good-bys ! ” 

Baverstock still showed a marked embarrass- 
ment. He made several false starts, till he 
blurted out: 

“ There’s another favor I want to ask. 
Would you mind — letting her in?” 

“ Not in the least.” 

“ The fact is, it wouldn’t do if the servants 
recognized her. She — is rather well known. 
I can’t say more without seeming to give her 
away.” 

Feldershey, who was still young enough to 
enjoy an adventure, exclaimed: 

“ Consider it settled. I will let her in.” 

“ I don’t like to suggest that you should put 
on your servant’s clothes, but do you think 
you could manage an Arab effect and pretend 
not to know any European language ? It would 
put her at her ease at once.” 

Feldershey opened a casone which stood by 
19 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


the window and drew out several pieces of 
drapery. 

“ Here is a rig I bought in Palestine. I 
wore it at a ball in Cairo, and not a soul recog- 
nized me.” 

“ The very thing,” said Baverstock. 

But Feldershey’s enthusiasm, which always 
had a childish quality, began to wane. His 
thoughts drifted back to the Princess Margaret 
at the Hotel Danielli. Could he call? Should 
he call? Was it his duty to call? He would 
be an ass to call — an abject, poor creature to 
move his head in the direction of the Hotel 
Danielli ! 

“Although this is awfully amusing,” said 
he aloud, “ why don’t you let your lady in 
yourself? ” 

“ In order to disarm suspicion,” said Baver- 
stock, in his best manner, “ I am going to show 
myself going in a contrary direction after she 
has started. One has to display common pru- 
dence. See? If I say any more you’ll be guess- 
ing who it is.” 

The bell tinkled. Feldershey did not move. 

“ That’s the bell,” said Baverstock unneces- 
sarily. 

“ People who ring once are either bores or 


20 


A RECLUSE SEES A FRIEND 


bills,” replied the artist. “ I have a little system. 
Agreeable acquaintances are told to ring twice : 
if I am not occupied, I see them; otherwise, I 
do not. But those few who may always enter 
ring three times. For the rest, you know the 
old saying: from six in the morning till eight 
at night, by the door; and from eight at night 
till six in the morning, by the window ! ” 

The bell was pulled more violently, and his 
lordship peeped through the grille. 

“Hullo!” he exclaimed, “here is a coinci- 
dence! It is old Prince Adolf! ” and he drew 
back the bolt without noticing his companion’s 
look of annoyance. 

“ Your Royal Highness,” said Feldershey, 
bowing low to his new visitor, “ how delighted 
I am to see you ! I was thinking of you this 
very day. I hope you are well.” 

“ You know I am always ailing,” said Prince 
Adolf. He added a hope that he was not dri- 
ving Mr. Baverstock away, and he gazed se- 
verely at the young man. 

“ Thanks, no, sir,” said Baverstock. “ I 
have an appointment ” ; and he disappeared with 
as much dignity as he could assume. 

The prince had a military appearance, but 
he walked listlessly, felt his own pulse, showed 
3 21 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


no interest in anything, held his heart from time 
to time, fell in a kind of collapse into the chair 
which Feldershey offered him, and drew out 
his handkerchief and bit it. He was perfectly 
dressed; his tie matched his socks, his clothes 
fitted to perfection, his beautiful gray hair was 
brushed with great care, his hands were very 
white, he was graceful and languid in all his 
movements. With a shrewd artistic eye he 
surveyed Lord Feldershey, the poverty of the 
apartment, and the picture on the easel. 

“ What brings you to Venice at this time of 
year, sir? ” asked Lord Feldershey. 

“ Well,” said Prince Adolf, “ every ten years 
or so Parliament considers the advisability of 
establishing a republic. The princess always 
seizes such an occasion for a well-deserved holi- 
day. She goes to Venice or Paris, sees her 
friends, amuses herself generally. When her 
enjoyment is at its height, we are invariably 
entreated to return by our devoted and faith- 
ful subjects. We forgive them — they pay our 
traveling expenses — and we return amidst the 
acclamations of an enraptured populace. That’s 
the way to govern modern politicians. Let them 
try each other as rulers. They soon thirst for 
a constitutional monarchy! ” 


22 


A RECLUSE SEES A FRIEND 


Feldershey thought him mistaken, but said: 

“ I hope you are right.” 

“ Seriously,” said the prince, “ there is a great 
commotion in Siguria. The hillmen threaten 
an insurrection. It is bound to come. Mar- 
garet ought to marry. I wish you would tell 
her so.” 

“/tell her so! ” 

“ Of course. You are, in my opinion, the 
very man to tell her so. She knows you despise 
the world, and she knows you hate politics. 
You are all for ideals and art and so forth. So 
is Margaret up to a certain point. That is why 
she muddles everything. Margaret is a delight- 
ful woman, but a damned bad statesman ! ” 

u There I agree. That is why I have given 
up reading newspapers. Sigurian affairs always 
crop up on the second page.” 

“ Then urge her duty upon her. She wants 
to see your picture — ‘ The Flute of Pan ’ — of 
which she has heard so much. And it is under- 
stood that you will be asked to paint her por- 
trait for the State Gallery.” 

“ I could never be a court-painter,” said Feld- 
ershey proudly; “ for I know too much about 
courts in the first place, and, perhaps, a little too 
much about painting in the other.” 

23 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ That is a touch of your usual ungracious- 
ness, n said Prince Adolf. “ If you had gone to 
Eton, it would have been swished out of you. 
Forgive an old friend.” 

“ And do you mean to say,” said Feldershey, 
ignoring the reprimand and gazing earnestly at 
the prince, “ that Margaret remembers me? ” 

“ Remember you ! By Jove, my dear fellow, 
she has been talking about you ever since she 
got here. When she heard you were in Venice, 
she clapped her hands like this ” — and he at- 
tempted to imitate her action. “ She wishes to 
come here this afternoon at five o’clock.” 

Feldershey conquered his emotion with a cer- 
tain pleasure and a certain annoyance. He 
moved restlessly about the studio, seemed on 
the point of speaking, and checked himself sev- 
eral times. 

“ But why come here? Would she be inter- 
ested? It isn’t a fit place for her. I’ve left 
her world — and yours — I have, really.” 

“ She often says,” said Prince Adolf, “ that 
of all her friends you are the one who planned 
an ideal and stuck to it. She respects you. 
After all, your views have much to recommend 
them. A great position is oftener than not a 
tremendous bore. I know that as well as you 
24 


A RECLUSE SEES A FRIEND 


do. A lot of places are a bore — sitting tight 
is often a bore! In choosing an artist’s life, 
you chose a life of freedom. You can love 
whom you please, as you please. You can amuse 
yourself as you please.” 

44 But haven’t you,” said Feldershey, 44 even 
in your position, always amused yourself as you 
pleased? ” 

44 But you can always know that you are loved 
for yourself alone, and then you don’t compro- 
mise anybody. The fact is, I have compro- 
mised far too many women. I must pull up! 
I never mean to compromise them — but — one 
drifts — one loses one’s self in a pair of blue eyes. 
And then — some one else finds one! Such a 
bore! Ah, there is much to be said for your 
view. I think you will find Margaret sympa- 
thetic. And she is softened.” 

4< But you flatter me if you think she will 
listen to my advice. It is only the prudent who 
will take an idea.” 

44 She isn’t prudent — she never was — but she 
is impulsive. The art of managing her is to sug- 
gest the right impulse at the psychological mo- 
ment. Now I will bring her round at five 
o’clock.” 

44 And I had made up my mind not to see 
25 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


her again. She led me such a dance in the old 
days.” 

“ I should be grateful to any one who could 
make me dance ! ” replied the old dandy. 
“ Now I will go back to Margaret. I’ll tell 
her everything is arranged. Au revoir! And 
don’t forget to tell her she must marry. Rub 
it in.” 

“ But marry whom? Who is the man? ” 

Adolf looked at him curiously, pursed up his 
lips, and put a hand upon his shoulder. 

“ I thought you two used to get on very well. 
I have a picture before me of one of those books 
in large print — handsomely bound — called 4 A 
Royal Love-match,’ or something of the kind. 
Can’t you see it? — the home life — encourage- 
ment of art and literature — the refined court- 
circle? Think — and au revoir /” 

After he had gone, Feldershey went to the 
mirror, and, by the aid of a hand-glass, exam- 
ined the pate of his own head in the fear that 
he was becoming prematurely bald. 


2 6 


CHAPTER III 


WHICH DESCRIBES A RENDEZVOUS 

T was a great pity that I did not 
love Lord Feldershey,” said the 
Princess Margaret to her favor- 
ite lady in waiting, the Baroness 
D’Albreuse; “ there was always something about 
him which made me anxious to go the other way 
when I saw him coming! It was a curious 
instinct.” 

“ Very singular, ma’am.” 

“ And I am almost ashamed to say that I 
actually wished him to know I didn’t love him. 
That wasn’t nice of me. I might have been 
gentler. My troubles have improved my char- 
acter, Mopsle : I look back, and I condemn my- 
self for many things. I have been greatly to 
blame — if not altogether in the wrong.” 

“How, ma’am?” The baroness was in- 
credulous. 

Margaret lifted her eyebrows. 

27 



THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“How? In my treatment of Lord Felder- 
shey. Of course he wouldn’t stand it.” 

“ But it was kinder to him, after all, ma’am, 
to show him that he had nothing to hope for.” 

The princess sighed and looked away into 
the distance — as though the city of Venice and 
her companion did not exist, and she were by 
herself in a dream. 

“ I hear he isn’t happy,” she said, after a 
long pause. “ And isn’t it strange that he, after 
six years of following his ideas, and I, after 
six years of following mine, should ask nothing 
more from the world than to sit quietly and 
be let alone? How we have changed! I don’t 
know whether I want to laugh or cry at the 
difference. But he was so ambitious once, and 
I was so fond of pleasure. I wanted to enjoy 
every moment of life, and it had to be mad 
enjoyment — not the peaceful, placid absence of 
pain which stuffy philosophers call pleasure. By 
pleasure, I meant pleasure and everything that 
gives it — love, romance, color, beauty, music, 
light, gaiety, jewels, beautiful clothes, money.” 

“ You can always have many of these things, 
ma’am.” 

“ Yes,” said Margaret sadly, “ many of 
them.” 


28 


DESCRIBES A RENDEZVOUS 


Presently she announced her intention of go- 
ing to St. Mark’s by herself. She liked to go 
out unaccompanied, perhaps because she could 
enjoy this independence on a holiday only. The 
baroness noticed that her royal mistress wore 
a long dust-cloak and a heavy white lace-veil — 
in order to avoid recognition. But even so con- 
cealed, she had a gait and bearing which were 
unmistakable under any disguise, and as she left 
the hotel, every passer-by of intelligence was 
aware that the small lady who walked swiftly, 
with the air of one who had a purpose, was 
the hereditary Princess of Siguria. She called 
a gondolier, and, in perfect Italian, directed him 
to take her to the first house of the second 
corner, after leaving the piazza on the left. In 
ten minutes’ time they reached their destination. 
It was a palace which resembled, at first sight, 
a dozen other palaces in side canals. Her Royal 
Highness accepted the gondolier’s assistance, 
stepped from the gondola on to the worn 
landing-steps, rang the bell, and was immedi- 
ately admitted, by an Oriental servant whose 
unexpected appearance startled her, into a large 
bare room which resembled a dozen other large 
bare rooms. As she was neither nervous nor 
given to brooding nor observant, she entered, 
29 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


and thought of absolutely nothing till the bell 
rang twice. She motioned to the Oriental, but 
he touched his own ears and lips in a way which 
was evidently meant to imply that he was deaf 
and dumb. The bell was set pealing a third 
time. The princess pointed to the door, and 
the servant, profoundly bowing, at last under- 
stood her gestures. He opened the door, and 
admitted Mr. Baverstock. Mr. Baverstock 
neither advanced nor spoke till the Oriental had 
retired, then, throwing prudence to the winds, 
he rushed impetuously toward the princess, ex- 
claiming : 

“ Darling ! It’s all right. That fellow’s 
deaf and dumb. How brave of you ! You’re 
simply clinking ! ” 

He was on the point of clasping her in his 
arms, when the lady, with great haughtiness, 
drew back, lifted her veil, and displayed a pale, 
indignant countenance. 

“ The princess ! ” exclaimed Baverstock, al- 
most losing his balance. “ Your Royal High- 


“ Is that your handwriting?” she asked, 
holding out an envelope. 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“ Is that my name?” she asked, with sarcasm. 
30 


DESCRIBES A RENDEZVOUS 


“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“Then why are you surprised to see me? 
Now I will tell you why I am here,” said Mar- 
garet, in a kinder tone, having placed herself 
triumphantly in the right. “ My cousin, the 
Countess Rixensart, in her haste to secure the 
mail-bag this morning, ran down the stairs, 
tripped, and sprained her ankle. She fainted 
from the pain, and the letter-bag, therefore, was 
brought to me. I opened it myself. I read all 
the letters myself : I answered them all — except 
one. That was addressed to me: I knew it 
could not be meant for me.” 

Baverstock, who had been showing every sign 
of consternation during this speech, managed to 
stammer out: 

“ Your Royal Highness ” 

“ Don’t interrupt.” 

“ I am sure I beg your Royal Highness’s ” 

Margaret waved her hand with a fine author- 
ity, which she had gained in the legitimate exer- 
cise of her autocratic position. 

“ How dare you send letters to a married 
woman and put my name on the envelope? 
How dare you write to Bertha and use my name 
as a protection? ” 

“ If I had put her own name, and the letter 

3 1 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


had fallen into her husband’s hands,” said Bav- 
erstock ingenuously, “ she would have been 
ruined ! ” 

“ And,” said Margaret, “ if you put my name 

on the envelope, and it falls into my hands ” 

“ Well, ma’am, we knew you might be angry, 
but you would never give her away.” 

“ So that’s your idea ! I am safe ! ” 

“ Yes, ma’am; and on my word of honor as 
a gentleman ” 

“ I ask no questions,” said Margaret haugh- 
tily, “ because you will feel obliged, in honor as 
a gentleman, to tell any number of lies. I am, 
therefore, the one to speak.” 

“ I have no excuse to offer. I was desperate. 
But the countess is in no way to blame. I just 
wanted to say good-by forever. I would sooner 

cut off my right hand than ” 

She interrupted him at once. 

“ I gather from this note, in which you 
arrange a lonely meeting here, that your in- 
tentions , where she is concerned, are of the lofti- 
est, most ethereal character! I stole away to 
St. Mark’s as though I were going to church. I 
called the first gondola I saw. I forgot appear- 
ances, I forgot the risk and the madness of the 
whole thing — I am simply furious ! ” 

32 


DESCRIBES A RENDEZVOUS 


“ Indeed, ma’am — ” said the gentleman, in 
despair. 

“ I have come in her stead because I rather 
wanted to see where foolish people meet fool- 
ish people. I call it very dreary and very 
damp.” 

“ If you will believe me, ma’am ■” 

“ And to use my name — the impertinence ! I 
open a sealed letter, and what do I read? — 
* Darling Precious, — I have made the record 
arrangement. Go to the first house of the 
second corner, ring the bell on the ground floor. 
Wear something quiet, and trust your devoted 
H. B.’ I went straight to Bertha’s room. I 
said, i Look at that ! ’ and she fainted again. 
You may think you are in love with her, but, 
of course, you are not. You must tell her that 
you are not. Promise me,” she wound up, with 
a charming air of entreaty, “ that you will forget 
her, and give her up.” 

Baverstock, whose eyes always moistened at 
the spectacle of any pretty woman under the 
influence of any sort of emotion, said, with real 
regret : 

“ I cannot promise. I’ll do my best, your 
Royal Highness, but I cannot promise.” 

“ The moment a new man appears, Bertha 

33 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


makes a bee-line for him. She can’t help it. 
There is no happiness in such things.” 

Baverstock became tragic; a successful liber- 
tine has never a sense of humor. He must be 
melancholy, intensely grave, or the sex will never 
ruin themselves on his account. 

“ It isn’t happiness,” he declared, with gloom, 
“ it is what you’re driven to do — bound to do, 
ma’am. I don’t love her because she is going 
to make me happy, but because I must.” 

Margaret, a true woman, responded at once 
to the serious note. 

“ Yes, that is true,” she murmured sadly, and 
remembered swiftly all her numerous love- 
affairs, every one of which had been pathetic 
to the last degree. “ But I mustn’t sympathize 
with you — I mustn’t, indeed. I must do my best 
to prevent you meeting. You understand? ” 

“ Absolutely, ma’am.” 

“ And silly letter-writing is not the worst of 
it. What about a secret meeting in a place of 
this kind? Who would forgive it? Who 
would believe, for one moment, that it was 
innocent? Any married woman found here, in 
these circumstances, would be ruined.” 

“ That is, I think, an extreme view, ma’am, 
if I may say so.” 


34 


DESCRIBES A RENDEZVOUS 


“ You know better. I do these wild things, 
and see how I am talked about ! I shock every- 
body, and I am not married.” 

All the bells of Venice rang out. 

“ What time is that? ” she exclaimed. 

“ Half past four, ma’am,” said Baverstock, 
looking at his watch. 

“ And I have an appointment at five. I must 
go now.” 

Baverstock moved gladly toward the door. 

“ Your Royal Highness will allow me to ” 

“ No, I must go alone. Somebody might 
see us together,” said the princess. Then, as 
she reached the door, she touched his coat-sleeve 
with the tip of her gloved hand. “ Now, I 
have let you down very gently. I mean, all 
the same, every word I have said. Flirting 
with married women is like playing bezique to 
your partner’s bridge. You are certain to get 
the worst of it ! Now do be sensible.” 

“ I’ll try my best, ma’am,” said Baverstock. 

“ Try hard. I can see it will be very hard. 
Good-by.” 

Baverstock opened the door: he bowed him- 
self nearly to the earth. The princess tripped 
out, and the gentleman uttered oaths after her 
retreating figure. Then he called aloud for 
35 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


Feldershey, who did not hear him for some 
time. He came in at last without his disguise, 
and dressed as usual in his Russian blouse. 

Baverstock was on the point of tears: 

“ You’ve been most awfully civil, and I can’t 
thank you enough, but I’m dreadfully upset.” 

He wrung his friend’s hand and dashed out, 
leaving Feldershey to imagine that even Mr. 
Baverstock’s large fortune could not make a 
rendezvous end precisely as he wished. 

“ Poor devil ! ” thought Feldershey, and, seiz- 
ing a broom, he began to sweep the floor. Was 
not he himself waiting for a lovely lady? 



36 




CHAPTER IV 

WHICH DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 

ELDERSHEY resented his own un- 
deniable agitation at the prospect of 
seeing Margaret, face to face, once 
more. He had heard, from many, 
of the caprices which had made her reign over 
the Sigurianese a flamboyant page in modern 
history. 

Her brains, her extravagance, her audacity, 
and her disinclination to marriage, would 
have made a much older and plainer woman 
the special prey of all the scandal-mongers. 
But Margaret was still young; she was con- 
sidered pretty by some, handsome by others, 
good-looking by the least friendly. She was 
not a great power among the crowned heads 
of Europe, but no one of them came of a kinglier 
dynasty or governed a prouder people. They 
were as industrious as the Swiss, as strenuous 
as the Americans, and as fond of comfort as 
4 37 




THE FLUTE OF PAN 


the English; they were rightly called unsettled, 
and the princess, in attempting to control them, 
was probably wise in keeping them amused by 
her charming manners rather than awed by 
her real genius in statesmanship. Had they 
suspected her ability, she would have been 
greatly feared and bitterly disliked: but em- 
perors called her intelligent at worst; kings 
found her charming; presidents thought her 
bright; prime, and other, ministers admired her 
complexion. In the engaging character of a 
delightful creature, a little mad, perfectly harm- 
less, and well educated, she played her part in 
the politics of the world. To Feldershey, how- 
ever, she was always the perverse girl, who 
broke his heart although she allowed him to 
beat her at croquet. At croquet she was 
inimitably inept: his victories, therefore, were 
never worth his while. He liked to think that 
she had treated him badly; that she had shown 
herself an unfeeling, ungrateful woman; that 
she had destroyed his ideals, and made a wreck 
of his whole life. He set his teeth, and deter- 
mined to find nothing desirable nor winning in 
her. But he and his mother worked like slaves 
to get the studio in order for her visit. Lady 
Feldershey, during Baverstock’s call, had been 
33 


DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 


out to purchase draperies and skins, red chairs, 
small tables, new china, silver tea-things, flowers 
and flower-vases — everything she could And 
in Venice that could give, at short notice, to 
a desolate room the appearance of an English 
home. 

44 There, I have done my best ! ” exclaimed 
her ladyship, as she surveyed the changed scene. 
44 I am trying not to feel flurried. What a life ! 
How can you like this excitement? ” 

44 What a hole to ask any one to,” sighed 
her son. 44 What do you suppose Margaret 
will think of it all? ” 

Her ladyship was too much absorbed in dust- 
ing to hear his remark. 

“ Good gracious ! ” she exclaimed suddenly, 
stopping in front of a small statuette of the 
god Pan, 44 this is a charming thing, but what 
is this curious little cupboard in his back?” 

44 At one time,” said Feldershey, 14 a musical 
clock was kept there, and every hour he played 
upon his flute; but that has been stolen. When 
I can afford it, I intend to have another made.” 

44 What a pretty idea ! ” 

44 Yes, it is a toy. We all have our toys.” 

Once more the bells of Venice pealed out an 
hour. 


39 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ I shall never get used to these bells,” said 
Lady Feldershey. “ Is the Princess Margaret 
coming at five? ” 

“ Yes,” said her son. 

“ But surely you’re going to put on your 
frock coat? ” 

“No; this is the moment of all others to 
wear my blouse ! ” 

“ I think that is very theatrical.” 

She thought mournfully: “How like his 
father ! and how much more like my own grand- 
mother — too eccentric for words.” 

She said, with a resigned smile: 

“ Please yourself, my darling boy! ” 

She always gave him this liberty when she 
saw that he was determined to take it: thus 
she was able to persuade herself that she could 
manage his humors. 

The bells had barely ceased ringing when the 
royal party arrived : Prince Adolf and the prin- 
cess, accompanied by Count Rixensart and the 
Baroness D’Albreuse. But Feldershey forgot 
all he had ever known of love, or happiness, or 
hospitality, when he saw the princess wearing 
the cloak, the hat, and the heavy white veil 
of Baverstock’s belle amie. He stared; he be- 
came livid; his mouth grew parched; he seemed 
40 


DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 


deprived of the powers of speech or reason. 
The emotion of Leontes on observing Hermione 
touch, in mere kindness, the hand of his own 
best friend, was not more fierce or outrageous 
than the madness which now entered into Felder- 
shey’s soul. Jealousy founded on reason is like 
everything else which is founded on reason — 
a matter within the reach of wisdom and justice. 
But the jealousy which comes from selfishness, 
and is dependent mainly on mere suspicion or 
appearances, is a disease of the mind. It must 
run its dreadful course, and when it does not 
culminate in crime, it is cured — if it be ever 
cured — by time or a tragedy. Feldershey was 
constitutionally jealous — it is the common mal- 
ady of misanthropists and cynics and the dis- 
illusioned : they give it many names, yet jealousy, 
not of the nobler sort, remains. 

“Dear Lady Feldershey!” said Margaret, 
graciously offering her cheek to be kissed. 
Then, untying her veil and handing it to Felder- 
shey, she said she hoped he had not forgotten 
her — it was such a long time since they had met. 
She did not recognize the studio — it was so 
transformed by the new furniture and decora- 
tions, and she did not know that Feldershey 
had opened the door for her half an hour before. 
4i 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ It is such a long time since we met/’ she 
repeated. 

“Is it really so long?” asked Feldershey 
grimly. 

“ I am afraid it is about five years ago,” 
she faltered, much hurt by the coldness of his 
glance. “ Have I altered so much? ” 

“ I am wondering,” he answered, and he 
seemed to be studying her face as though it 
were morbidly interesting to a physiognomist, 
but no longer attractive to a lover. 

Count Rixensart, the Master of the Horse in 
Siguria, was so much perturbed at the strange 
expression on Lord Feldershey’s countenance, 
that he whispered loudly to the lady-in-waiting : 

“ Do you see how he stares at the princess? 
I have always heard that he has no manners.” 

“ Ah, but the Berkeles are such an old fam- 
ily ! ” observed the baroness, also in a loud whis- 
per. She thought she held the clue to the sit- 
uation, because she believed that she alone in 
the court knew of the old flirtation between the 
princess and her distracted host. 

Margaret, whose courage never failed, ral- 
lied from the first discomfiture of her reception, 
and smiled with exasperating serenity upon the 
angry man. 


42 


DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 


44 I heard about you,” said she, “ from every 
one. They tell me you have renounced every- 
thing except your pictures. You have given up 
your titles, your land, your money — you really 
follow Tolstoy’s ideas. I am so interested.” 

Feldershey replied with emphasis that he had 
renounced everything — except his pictures. 

“ It is too extraordinary,” continued Mar- 
garet, as though she were thinking irresponsibly 
aloud. “ It isn’t as though you were a failure, 
or you had lost your good looks. You are 
better-looking than you used to be ! Honestly ! 
I came to see you, but you will show me 4 The 
Flute of Pan,’ won’t you? ” 

Prince Adolf joined them. He wished to 
find some excuse for leaving the two together, 
so, with a meaning glance at Feldershey, he 
asked : 

44 Isn’t there a room in this palace where 
Paul Veronese once painted a lovely Venetian? 
As I cannot possibly see the Venetian, I should 
very much like to see the room.” 

44 There is some legend of the kind. It’s 
my kitchen now,” said his lordship. 

44 Kitchen ! What desecration ! But we must 
see it. Dear Lady Feldershey, you must show 
me the kitchen,” said the prince. 

43 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ Papa is always so full of romance,” mur- 
mured Margaret. 

“ I like to people the past and live in other 
centuries than our own. What is more refresh- 
ing than a change of centuries! Now the 
kitchen, Lady Feldershey.” 

Rixensart and the baroness exchanged know- 
ing grimaces as they followed the prince and 
Lady Feldershey from the room. 

“ Boris,” said Margaret, in a confidential 
tone, when they were alone, “ I have really come 
to ask your advice.” 

If his manner had been cold in the presence 
of witnesses, it was now frozen. 

“ That is something I could never presume 
to offer, ma’am.” 

“ Oh, dear,” thought Margaret, “ what an 
appalling manner ! What is the matter ? What 
a mercy that I know him and understand him. 
The ice used to stop just above his heart; now 
even the heart is frozen within an inch or so 
of the depths. I must have treated him badly. 
What a pity! ” 

“ But if I beg your advice,” she said softly, 
“ if I tell you I must have it — if I promise to 
follow it — if you give it! ” 

“ My embarrassment will know no bounds.” 

“ I sha’n’t reproach you — if it doesn’t pan 

44 


DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 


out well ! I wouldn’t say one word. You know, 
I suppose, that they want me to go back? They 
miss me, after all, in Siguria.” 

“ I heard it, but I didn’t believe it.” 

“ Why didn’t you believe it? ” 

“ Why should they wish you to return, 
ma’am? You are more expensive than a presi- 
dent, and they can’t get rid of you so easily.” 

“ You are as blunt as ever ! ” she exclaimed. 
“ Why are you so horrid? But that is your 
way. Now listen. I want your help. My 
stepfather, Prince Adolf, was greatly trusted by 
my mother, and he has grown to think himself 
the head of affairs in Siguria. I can’t have that, 
yet I cannot stand alone — no woman can. I 
wanted to — I tried — I wouldn’t admit it to any 
one else, but it hasn’t been a success. I need 
— I must have — a friend.” 

“We are not friends — we never can be 
friends ,” said Feldershey hastily. 

She responded to this encouragement : 

“How absurd! Why not? Of course we 
are friends. We can’t help being friends. See 
how we quarrel the moment we meet ! It comes 
so easily to us to be odious to each other! We 
are born friends. Why not? How absurd!” 

Feldershey had never been insensible to her 
manner. The manner, he warned himself, even 
45 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


now was dangerous. Nevertheless, it had its 
charm. He braced himself for an exhibition 
of will-power, and delivered himself in the fol- 
lowing terms: 

“ Five years ago, ma’am, I offered you my 
love. You did not want it. I do not blame you, 
but the fact that you did not want it made 
me feel that there was something in me which 
needed correction; so, from being a dull idle 
man, I became a dull working one. Say no 
more on the subject; I do not even discuss it 
with myself. It is all done with now, but I 
find that it is not so done with that I can 
be pleased to see you, and I wish you had kept 
away. We are not friends, we never can be 
friends — friends .” 

“ I daresay I often made you angry,” sighed 
Margaret, fully conscious that she was gaining 
ground. “ I’m sorry. I was stupid. Please 
forgive me anything I may have done in the 
past; whatever it was, I never meant it.” 

“ You never meant it! ” he said indignantly. 
“ I don’t suppose you did mean it. Women 
never do mean anything! That is just why I 
don’t want to have anything to do with them, 
and I include you ! ” 

“You are the rudest man I’ve ever metl 

46 


DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 


And yet — I trust you — I wonder why?” she 
added, with a frankly artificial air of simplicity. 

“ I am not in the least worth your while.” 

“ If you weren’t, would I be here to-day? 
Would I tell you what I have told you ? Would 
I forget my pride and humble myself ” 

Feldershey could bear her better in a humble 
attitude, and he said, in a kinder voice than he 
had hitherto used : 

“ I am grateful for anything you choose to 
give me, so long as it is sincere; but you are 
such an actress.” 

“ Don’t we all have to act? ” said the woman, 
almost in tears. “ Isn’t that the curse of my 
position? By showing all I think and fear, I 
don’t betray myself but my whole kingdom. 
They call it playing the game — the game! If 
I cry, that would be unfair — I mustn’t cry. But 
I want — I must have your help — I must. And 
I know you so well that I know I can only gain 
my point by asking for even more kindness 
than you have shown me already! And you 
ought to be kind — haven’t I given you the ad- 
vantage when I came here to ask a favor? ” 

“ I don’t believe in favors.” 

“Will you advise me? You can’t refuse 
your advice — you cannot.” 

47 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ Are you acting, or are you sincere? ” 

“ I’m not acting. During the war you were 
magnificent. I don’t forget that you hate flat- 
tery, but I must say so — you were magnificent.” 
At this point she became embarrassed, and 
dropped into the official tone which she adopted 
only for the opening of the Senate Houses once 
a year at the capital of Siguria. “ The unfor- 
tunate etiquette which hedges the royal family 
makes it necessary for me to entertain projects, 
and even undertake them, which would other- 
wise — Can you follow what I say? because I 
can t. 

“ I seem to be following.” 

“ There will be a rebellion — and I am fright- 
ened. Oh, what is the use of sixty thousand 
men in the field, unless I have some one to com- 
mand them? Won’t you help me? Won’t you 
let them all see that I am not utterly alone? ” 
Feldershey was touched, and, because he was 
touched, he became ill-tempered. 

“ I won’t be played upon — I will not have 
my life disturbed a second time! No, I have 
given up the old career — the trumpets and the 
bands and the uniform, and the slaughtering and 
the chatter and the inanity — and I’ve settled 
down in this old room ; and then you come — not 
48 


DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 


wholly spoiled yet, perhaps — from your artifi- 
cial atmosphere and ask me to take part in a 
charade ! ” 

“ A charade ! When men are being shot in 
the streets, and women are crying over their 
husbands and children, and those who wish to 
work cannot, and those who want power will 
sacrifice the lives of all my people. A charade ! 
First they broke my heart, now they have broken 
my pride. I am in the dust.” 

She sat huddled on the edge of the lecture- 
platform, which he had covered with draperies 
and cushions for her comfort; she was not cry- 
ing, but her face was strained. She was piteous 
as an object, and, as a female object, undeniably 
appealing to a man who was proud of his 
strength. It seemed to Feldershey that it would 
be quite possible to crush her with one hand, 
physically at least. He doubted even then 
whether the strongest could break her morally. 
Still, to crush is pleasant and soothing. 

“ I never intended to be sorry for any woman 
again,” said Feldershey. 

“ If I pretend to take it all so lightly,” said 
Margaret, “ it is only in order to gain time. 
Ycu would believe me, I suppose, if I talked 
blank verse: the newspapers don’t talk blank 
49 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


verse — read them if you won’t believe me. Oh, 
they are right sometimes. I am discouraged — 
I am worn out. I should die if I didn’t feel 
here that I must never give in. Prince Adolf, 
simpering in this studio, looks harmless enough 
but he would see whole villages massacred to 
gain his point.” 

“ Prince Adolf has already asked me to use 
my tact with you,” said Feldershey, who was 
notorious for his tactlessness. 

“Tact!” 

“ He says you are playing the fool.” 

“ Well, that is a good beginning,” said Mar- 
garet ironically. 

“ He thinks you ought to marry.” 

The princess wondered if such obtuseness 
were conceivable, if it could really exist in a 
human being, if a man could be so dense, and 
live ! 

“ He thinks you ought to marry,” repeated 
Feldershey, with a stupidity which was inborn, 
and therefore pardonable. 

“ That is the very question,” said Margaret, 
“the one I want you to consider! As I said, 
the unfortunate etiquette which hedges the 
royal family makes it necessary for me to en- 
tertain projects, and even undertake them, which 

5 ° 


DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 


would otherwise — ” It was impossible to main- 
tain her official tone. She held out her hand, 
not as though she wished it to be taken, but 
as though she would call attention to its single- 
ness. “ You feel the truth of all I have said 
about my difficulties, and yet you won’t see the 
hardest of all — I must seem to speak first. Oh, 
it is so humiliating! It is awful! It is the 
reason why I said I would never marry. I have 
to see somebody, and suggest — in cold blood — 
that I should marry him. I cannot possibly 
assume that he loves me, and I shouldn’t like 
him to assume that I love him. But, for the 
sake of old times — and you did speak first once, 
so it isn’t quite so bad — and you did like me; 
or, at least, you said so — you said more than 
that — and so I thought of you naturally — when 
they said — when I really think myself — it is 
a duty to marry ” 

Feldershey, with a smile which conveyed utter 
astonishment, triumph, incredulity, and sus- 
picion, shouted: 

“You don’t want to marry me — do 
you?” 

Margaret seemed pained, a shade re- 
proachful. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Feldershey hastily, 
51 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ but one must be clear where marriage is in- 
volved.” 

Margaret was too great an adept in council 
meetings to allow a vital question once reached 
to be lost in evasions. 

“ I quite agree one must be clear where mar- 
riage is involved, but of course it is all quite 
formal.” 

“ I am not assuming that you love me,” said 
Feldershey, on his dignity; “you needn’t be 
embarrassed — it’s all quite formal.” 

“ Absolutely formal.” 

“ A political treaty, in fact.” 

“ A political treaty — yes.” 

“ You want me to fight for you? ” 

“ For my country.” 

Feldershey tried to conceal his mortification. 

“ I understand. Your country is driving you 
into this marriage with me ! But you must not 
sacrifice yourself. I’ll fight for you. I don’t 
ask for any reward; you shall not sacrifice your- 
self — I quite understand.” 

“ No, you don’t understand,” said the prin- 
cess. And indeed he did not understand, nor 
did Margaret wish him to understand — which 
was the main obstacle in his way. “ As an 
example to my subjects, I must encourage mar- 
52 


DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 


riage. I — see the obligation. I — I — am not 
making myself unhappy about it. I — I — re- 
spect you deeply. I feel, too, that you are the 
one man that we want in Siguria. But as I don’t 
wish to conceal anything from you, I ought to 
say I am rather jealous. My mother, you may 
remember, was jealous! Some one might grow 
to love you, and then — if I were not your wife — 
I might feel her influence over you — do you 
see? Frankly, I should hate that — do you see? 
Marriage would save us from any complica- 
tions of that kind ! But I have another jealousy 
— I am jealous of the love of my people. That’s 
my inheritance, too, that is always with me; 
and, don’t you see — it is so hard to say, but 
if you become my people’s leader — not as my 
husband, but as my rival ” 

Feldershey, who had been listening with a 
growing distrust of her motives, and a convic- 
tion that a woman with such a power of express- 
ing herself was to be watched, replied flippantly: 

“ Yes, I understand. Then, I fear, if you 
really want me to help you ” 

“ I do— I do.” 

“ Then there is no other way out of it but 
marriage with me — painful as the idea must 
be.” 


5 


53 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ But — ” said Margaret, as piqued by his 
light tone as he had hoped she would be. 

“ Don’t try to explain,” he went on, as though 
neither her feelings nor his mattered greatly to 
either, and the whole situation was, after all, 
amusing, “ it would only hurt us both, perhaps 
— and, of course, the same argument would ap- 
ply to any man — and I might be less likely to 
jar upon you than some one who had not known 
you ever since you were a little girl! I jar, no 
doubt; still ” 

“ Oh, you don’t always jar upon me, and 
friendship is a basis — we are friends.” 

He forgot to be ironical, and answered 
quickly : 

“ That is the one thing I said we couldn’t be.” 

This reassured her once more. Her spirits 
revived, but her face became despondent. 

“ So you refuse to help me? ” 

There were tears in her voice, and Feldershey, 
for a second, wondered whether he had gone 
too far in brutality. 

“ Forget what I said — forget it ! ” he ex- 
claimed. “ You didn’t think I would refuse 
you, did you ? ” 

She sighed deeply, and said she couldn’t be 
sure. 

54 


DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 


“ You can be sure,” said Feldershey, with 
firmness ; and he forgot for a moment the 
rendezvous with Baverstock. 

Margaret, now convinced that her hold on 
his affections was as strong as ever, became 
forbidding. 

“ Then we are allies,” she said primly. 

The primness, which seemed to him false, 
reminded him of Baverstock. 

“ I believe that is the term,” he said, growing 
cold at once, “ which would most perfectly de- 
scribe the present situation. But,” here his 
voice became harsh, “ if I go back to that in- 
fernal soldiering, it will be on one condition: 
that when the work is done, I come back after- 
ward and take up my life here again.” 

“ Back to the studio without me? ” 

“ Without you — unless — unless ” 

“ Unless ? ” 

“ You will come back with me,” said Felder- 
shey. 

“ Back to the studio, and give up every- 
thing?” 

“ My dear child, at present everything is 
being taken from you! You are very proud, 
and you don’t want to get the worst of it! 
I understand you ask me to get your country 
55 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


back under your own control. Say I suc- 
ceed ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ To live out there,” said he, with delibera- 
tion, “ as the husband of the prima donna does 
not come into my ambition. I might have done 
it five years ago; I cannot and I will not do 
it now.” 

“ You mean I must dress like a peasant, and 
work for my living, and read Tolstoy seri- 
ously?” She thought she must be playing in 
one of De Musset’s light comedies. Feldershey 
had a fantastic side: he had often amused her 
at Berkele Abbey, years before, by his flights 
into fantasy — expeditions which always took 
place at an inappropriate moment in life, or in 
a conversation. 

“ I remember seeing photographs of you in 
the old days,” continued Feldershey, “ ‘ Prin- 
cess Margaret and her Model Dairy,’ ‘ The 
Princess Margaret Knitting for the Poor,’ 
‘ The Princess Margaret preparing a Work- 
man’s Dinner.’ ” 

She began to fear he was in earnest. He had 
an infinite capacity for carrying the fantastic 
into action. 

“ But I should have to abdicate, like Chris- 

56 


DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 


tina of Sweden,” she said, u and give up my 
country ! ” 

“ Not your country, but your artificial po- 
sition: the court life, the tedious functions, the 
treacherous self-seeking politicians — the whole 
damnable circus, in fact ! ” 

“ That means everything that most women 
care for.” 

“ Everything — except the little I can give you 
— myself ! ” 

He may not have been vain, but he had 
no mean idea of his sterling worth, and society 
had never permitted him to forget that women 
considered him good-looking. They had con- 
sidered him good-looking with such persistency 
and conviction, that, with all the modesty in 
the world, he had been obliged sometimes to 
accept the situation. 

“ Why haven’t you more confidence in your- 
self?” asked Margaret, who had a sense of 
humor. 

“ I have plenty of confidence in myself,” said 
Feldershey, with characteristic simplicity, “ but 
I have no confidence in you.” 

“ Because I don’t jump at the idea of re- 
nouncing all I possess in order to satisfy your 
pride ! ” 


57 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ It isn’t my pride, it’s my conviction.” 

“ No, no; it is your pride.” 

“ My absolute conviction ! ” 

“Your pride!” 

“ Well,” he said, “ I don’t ask you to come 
back with me.” 

The princess observed that he was not very 
gracious, and she made the remark dreamily, 
as though she were a connoisseur considering 
a genuine but not altogether happy example of 
some great master’s art. It was, beyond doubt, 
a Velasquez, but not a Velasquez at his best; 
there were signs of an influence. Feldershey, 
conscious that he was under criticism and also 
that he deserved it, offered the nearest thing 
he could bring himself to utter in the way of 
an apology: 

“ I have worked out my plan of life, pain- 
fully and with struggles, and must I change it 
all — the discipline of these years — because you 
choose to come back, perfectly dressed, with all 
the old charm — oh, you are charming enough! 
— and your sweet nature — oh, you are sweet- 
natured enough ! — and ask me to take up a way 
of living which I renounced in disgust and con- 
tempt? No; it must be understood when the 
work is done that I ” 


58 


DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 


“ I’ll do as you say,” said Margaret in- 
stantaneously. 

It was as if the poisoning remembrance of 
her old perversity had been changed magically 
to sweetness, and his five years of wrath had 
been made a honeyed summer by the breaking 
in of tender moonlight. It was as if the pretty 
child who had enslaved him, and the bewitch- 
ing girl he had madly worshiped, had fulfilled 
all his romantic imaginations, and the woman 
stood before him as a rare being whom he had 
cruelly misjudged. It was as if his contemptu- 
ous view of life had been proved a nightmare; 
as if he stood in a new fair world, and, as a 
son of men, was loved by a daughter of the 
gods ; as if gates of brass and bars of iron had 
been smitten, and he were released from a 
prison-house. This was his feeling, and his 
instinct urged him to clasp Margaret in his 
arms. But one cannot, in a moment, lose the 
restraint or the habits of distrust which one 
may have encouraged excessively for any num- 
ber of years. So, instead of behaving as his 
heart prompted, he repeated, in a tone of 
amazement : 

“ You’ll come back here? ” 

“ I’ll come back here.” 

59 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“With me?” 

“ Yes, if you want to come back,” she said 
earnestly, “ I’ll come with you — but I don’t 
believe you will want to come back.” 

“ Margaret,” said Feldershey, really touched, 
“ if I thought ” — and he was on the point of 
declaring himself everlastingly hers, when she 
turned away and unfortunately said: 

“ I would do anything to insure the peace of 
my country — anything! ” 

“ Your country! ” And Feldershey laughed. 

“ I love my country,” said Margaret, in a 
tone of heroic exaltation which seemed to carry 
her above the earth levels and beyond him. “ I 
love my wayward, quarrelsome people. Save 
them, and I will be satisfied.” 

This was rhetoric, and she knew it, but he 
did not. So he said, as though he were weigh- 
ing the terms of a lease : 

“ And if I cannot save them? ” 

“ We shall each have done our best.” She 
was so delighted with the success of her inter- 
view and the reassurance she had gained, in 
spite of his manner, of his old affection, that 
she forgot that he, too, on his side, might be 
looking for some sign or spark of tenderness. 
It was a natural, and therefore a foolish, mis- 
60 


DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 


take. “ It is agreed — we are engaged — we are 
to be married? ” 

“ It is agreed, ma’am, we are to be married,” 
said Feldershey. 

She permitted him to kiss her gloved hand. 

“ This must be a secret for the present,” she 
continued; and then, as they heard the murmur- 
ing of voices drawing nearer, she added hastily, 
“ They must find us talking as though nothing 
had happened — I spent the winter in Paris, buy- 
ing more clothes than I can ever wear, and meet- 
ing people — who are so charming that one can- 
not ask them to meet one’s relations.” 

By this time Prince Adolf and the others had 
entered the studio. The princess called out: 

“ Mopsle, my work-case, please.” 

The baroness came forward and held out a 
silk bag which she had been carrying on her arm. 

“ Lord Feldershey,” said Margaret, “ as this 
is your birthday, I want to ask you to accept 
as a little gift this embroidered waistcoat.” 

“ And worked with her own hands,” ob- 
served the baroness. 

“The honor is overwhelming!” said Fel- 
dershey; and, taking the gift, he put it down 
uncouthly on the table with his palette and 
painting rags. 


6 1 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


Margaret colored, glanced at Mopsle to re- 
mind her that she had been warned of the man’s 
rudeness, and said, with forced gaiety: 

“ Now the picture. We haven’t seen that 
yet!” 

Feldershey strode to the easel and looked bit- 
terly at his own masterpiece. 

“ This,” said he, “ is Pan playing divinely, 
and nobody is listening, and nobody cares, and 
that man and that woman have lost their way.” 

“ But surely they find it? ” said the princess. 

“ I don’t know, ma’am — that is the picture, 
anyhow. I painted it; somebody else must ex- 
plain it.” 

Prince Adolf studied the canvas for some sec- 
onds without speaking. He shaded his eyes; 
he stepped backward and forward; he gave, 
as it were, a thumb-nail sketch of a professional 
critic at a private view. 

“ I wish,” said he, “ that the flute would cure 
my symptoms. A passing cloud, a coming 
storm, the approach of rain — anything, in fact, 
which causes an electric tension in the atmos- 
phere — wears me out. Is Pan for sale? ” 

“ Baverstock wants to buy it,” said Felder- 
shey, watching Margaret. 

“ That dreadful young man ! ” said the 
62 


DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 


prince. “ I wondered why I found him here 
to-day.” 

“ I don’t think he is dreadful,” said Mar- 
garet; “ he is tiresome, but very, very hand- 
some and intrepid.” 

Feldershey grew sick with jealousy. 

“ Intrepid! ” said her stepfather; “ insolent, 
you mean ! ” 

“ No, dear papa,” said Margaret, “ intrep- 
id.” Then she rose and said she must be go- 
ing. “We leave for my little villa at Florence 
to-night. You will come there, won’t you?” 
she said to Feldershey. “ You will like the 
villa ; it has always been my favorite house ; my 
happiest days have been spent there. That is 
why I dare not see it often: the charm might 
go. I will write to you. And you will paint 
my portrait, won’t you? We have enjoyed our- 
selves so much.” 

She kissed Lady Feldershey, who courtesied, 
and the two ladies went toward the door to- 
gether. 

Adolf plucked Feldershey by the sleeve. 

“ Did you get on the topic of marriage? 
Did you draw her out? ” 

Feldershey ignored the question, and sug- 
gested that they should follow the ladies. 

63 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


Adieus were once more exchanged all round, 
and the royal party were handed into the gon- 
dola. 

Feldershey, instead of remaining on the land- 
ing-stage until the charming group had passed 
out of sight, hurried with a clouded brow into 
his studio. 

“ Why,” said Lady Feldershey, putting her 
hand on his shoulder, “ was the princess here 
twice this afternoon? ” 

He wondered how much she knew, and he 
was determined to tell her nothing. He 
was equally determined not to lie if he could 
help it. 

“Twice! What do you mean?” he asked. 

“ I saw her with my own eyes,” said his 
mother, “ as I was coming back in the gondola. 
I thought she had come to see you, but no — 
Harry Baverstock came — you went out by 
the side door, and left them alone together. 
Then, when the princess came, I recognized the 
same cloak, the same veil. It was the same 
woman ! ” 

“ She is her own mistress, isn’t she? ” 

“ My dear boy, I wasn’t born yesterday. 
She came here to meet Baverstock.” 

“ I say she is her own mistress — isn’t she? ” 

64 


DESCRIBES AN ENCOUNTER 


“ I hope so,” said Lady Feldershey dryly. 
“If she came here to-day, it was, of course, to 
use you as some sort of a screen.” 

This was the word too much. 

“ What did you say? ” 

“ I said,” she murmured, “ that Margaret 
may have had her motives.” 

He threw her ladyship a warning glance, 
which reminded her for a second time that 
morning of his father’s temper when driven 
to extremities. It could reach an irresponsible 
pitch. 

“ She hasn’t the least idea,” said Feldershey, 
“ that I know anything about it, and you must 
swear to me that you will never tell her.” 

“ Anything to please you. You have loved 
her ever since she was a little girl, and you 
will love her to the end ! ” 

“ Do you want to drive me mad? ” 

Her eyes filled with tears. Tears could not 
stop a temper, but they could stem language. 

“ I didn’t mean it,” he said hastily. “ But 
will you tell me what Margaret sees in Baver- 
stock?” She tried to reply, but he shouted, 
“No, don’t answer!” and went out, banging 
the door. 

Lady Feldershey, who was a woman of ac- 

65 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


tion, walked to the table, and put his palette, 
his paints, and painting rags into the casone. 

She knew there would be no more painting 
done for months. 



66 



CHAPTER V 

IN WHICH WIRES ARE PULLED FOR A 
GOOD MOTIVE 

XISTENCE at the Villa Santa Fiore 
I mraD P asse d in a frivolous manner, and, 
IB^Isaggl as a state which could not, by any 
human possibility, last, it was en- 
joyed to desperation by the Princess Margaret 
and her household. There was a certain rou- 
tine observed in the course of the days, but it 
was a routine of pleasures and amusements, 
parties, dances, dinners, music, card-playing, 
singing, flirtations, the buying of objects of art, 
expeditions to places of historical interest, 
saunterings in the garden where fountains 
played, and roses, oleanders and azaleas, camel- 
lias, cypress-trees and ilex, magnolia, orange- 
trees, lemon - trees and myrtle, grape - vines, 
syringa, laburnum, and every sort of romantic 
shrub and flower grew, in its time, to perfection. 
67 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


There were swans on the lake; gold and silver 
fish in the marble basins on the terrace ; pigeons 
walking and flying in every direction; peacocks 
strutted where they would; nightingales, at the 
right season, sang in the small groves and in 
the long pergola when it was deserted. 

Feldershey, on finding himself once more in 
the luxurious surroundings to which he had been 
accustomed all his life, was at first lulled into 
a tolerance of wealth. It was pleasant to spend 
one’s days in a beautiful villa near one of the 
loveliest cities in the world; to have the woman 
whom he adored for a companion; a train of 
servants in picturesque liveries to wait upon him; 
delicious food; fine horses and dogs; and no 
responsibilities. It seemed especially pleasant 
after the fierce excitements of war, the crowded 
desolation of a London season, and his melan- 
choly weeks at Venice. But it was not in him 
to enjoy inactivity, and after he had seen every 
room in the villa, and every living or inanimate 
thing in the gardens, he became restless, sar- 
donic, and ill-conditioned. He decided that 
Margaret was unlovable — although he did not 
go so far as to tell himself that he loved her 
no longer. He doubted her truthfulness; he 
cursed his own folly in having agreed to a mar- 
68 


WIRES ARE PULLED 


riage ; and a hundred times he resolved to break 
with her forever before the irrevocable step 
was taken. But although he spent a week at 
Santa Fiore, he never once saw Margaret alone. 
He talked far more to her cousin, the Countess 
Rixensart; and whereas the words he exchanged 
with that sprightly creature were intimate, easy, 
and amusing, his conversations with Margaret 
were on distant, academic themes, and main- 
tained in the presence of her entire suite. She 
made her first appearance always at three in the 
afternoon; she invariably withdrew from the 
circle at half past ten — leaving the others to 
retire when they pleased. Count Rixensart was 
there to chaperon his young wife; Prince Adolf 
was a widower and a valetudinarian; the Mis- 
tress of the Robes, Madame von Rauser, was a 
handsome widow, thoroughly alive to her own 
merits and the value of chastity; Count Marche, 
Her Royal Highness’s favorite equerry, was too 
poor to contemplate matrimony, and therefore 
he was secretly engaged (it was said) to a per- 
son of no birth, whom he was having educated 
in Paris. He visited her at her convent-school 
every month or so, and the princess found the 
story most touching. She believed every word 
she was told, because she herself was consti- 
6 69 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


tutionally truthful. Rixensart, on the other 
hand, would roll his eyes and whistle through 
a hollow tooth whenever he was alone and hap- 
pened to think of Marche. Margaret was much 
attached to the members of her suite, but they 
exasperated Feldershey, who regarded them all 
as bores, intruders, and incorrigible absorbents 
of the lady’s time. His mother, who felt the 
irritation underlying his brief notes, hoped that 
all would come right after the marriage, but 
she could not pretend to understand such a 
strange pair of lovers, who seemed, at one and 
the same time, close friends and keen antago- 
nists. She could not doubt that her son was de- 
voted, in some unwilling, resentful, and almost 
ferocious way, to Margaret; and she could not 
doubt that Margaret, who had a dozen eager 
suitors of the most illustrious sort, was devoted, 
in some strange, serene, and dispassionate way, 
to Feldershey. 

“ Do people know what they mean when 
they speak of devotion? ” she wrote to her son. 
“/ am bewildered by the protestations of mod- 
ern men and women . The wo?nen are ‘ simply 
devoted ’ to motors , old furniture, pet animals, 
their husbands, their houses, and Tom, Dick, 
and Harry . The men are ‘ simply devoted ’ to 
70 


WIRES ARE PULLED 


a new person every other month , for whom they 
would not make the smallest sacrifice of amuse- 
ment or comfort. I don't know where I am. 
But God’s will he done.” 

The truth of his mother’s remarks did not 
relieve the tension of Feldershey’s spirit; he con- 
sidered himself hit between the eyes by the force 
of her unsparing common sense. He did not 
answer her letter, and he hoped she would re- 
gard him as one whom she had deeply injured. 
Had he not renounced his fortune, and lived 
on ten shillings a week? Yes, for an idea; not 
for the sake of any woman. Still, the woman, 
by her conduct, had driven him to consider seri- 
ous views of life. His renunciation of the 
world and its empty prizes had been an indirect 
tribute to the power of love — no matter how 
disastrously bestowed. 

On a certain morning, some two weeks after 
the Princess Margaret’s visit to Feldershey’s 
studio, Countess Rixensart might have been 
seen in the princess’s private drawing-room, 
writing at a small desk. The countess was un- 
der thirty, pretty, graceful, and extremely in- 
genuous in her expression. She was neither a 
minx nor a cat, but a shrewd little lady who 
had her way to make in a world which she knew 
7i 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


without an effort. On this particular morning, 
Hassell, the Groom of the Chambers, stood at 
the entrance to the royal boudoir, as though he 
were on guard. The room was full of white 
flowers; real garlands were hanging over the 
frescos on the walls. Flags were hanging from 
the balcony outside, and the doors which led 
to the private chapel seemed to have been 
freshly gilded for some extraordinary occa- 
sion. 

“ Let me know how soon I may expect Her 
Royal Highness,” said the countess, suddenly 
turning. 

“ Her Royal Highness,” said Hassell in 
pompous tones, u is having her hair done.” 

Bertha continued scribbling, and she did not 
speak again until a footman crossed the room, 
bearing a note on a silver salver. 

“ Who is that for? ” she asked. 

“ Her Royal Highness,” said Hassell. 

“ Give it to me,” said Bertha. 

Hassell presented the salver; she took the 
note, and gave it a smile of recognition, as 
though it were an acquaintance. Hassell, who 
preserved an imperturbable demeanor, watched 
her under his heavy, sleepy eyelids, while she 
walked to a corner, opened the envelope, and 
72 


WIRES ARE PULLED 


drew out a sheet of paper. This she read hur- 
riedly. Hassell observed her cheeks’ deepen- 
ing pink. She had by nature a brilliant flush, 
which varied rarely, and passed with the ma- 
licious for rouge. Hassell heard himself called 
with some softness, and he advanced respect- 
fully. 

“ Hassell,” said the Countess Rixensart, “ I 
am expecting Mr. Baverstock to see me. Do 
you understand? ” 

“ Yes, my lady.” 

“ He will arrive while the wedding-ceremony 
is going on.” 

“ Yes, my lady.” 

“ When he arrives, show him in here.” 

At this point, Bertha took a small gold piece 
from her purse and dropped it into his palm 
with gingerly grace. 

“ Now, you manage all that for me nicely, 
and, as you know,” she added, dropping her 
lashes, “ Mr. Baverstock is extremely gen- 
erous.” 

“ Yes, my lady.” 

“ That will do,” said Bertha; and, going over 
to the writing-table, she resumed her task. 

She had been writing, perhaps, for ten or 
fifteen minutes, when an officer of some bulk, in 
73 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


an extremely fine uniform, walked unannounced 
and hurriedly into the room. He had an im- 
placable countenance and a determined jaw. 
His age was about forty-five, and he seemed 
to have lived every day of his time on this 
earth. His manner was severe, abrupt, official, 
and, when he addressed the Countess Rixensart, 
possessive. 

“ Are you busy? ” said he. 

“ I am just correcting the list of wedding- 
presents,” said his wife sweetly. 

“ Anybody about? ” 

“ Not a soul. Margaret is still in her room.” 

Count Rixensart took some marching steps 
round the furniture. 

“ I suppose you are dressed for the wed- 
ding? ” said he. 

“Can’t you see that I am dressed?” said 
Bertha, whose gown had arrived that morning 
from Vienna. 

“ This ridiculous marriage with Lord Fel- 
dershey has altered all my plans,” said Rixen- 
sart. “ How does it look ? A hurried marriage 
— semi-private — only a few relatives present — 
she might be the fifth daughter of some little 
grand duke.” 

“ Hasn’t she always said that she would not 

74 


WIRES ARE PULLED 


have a state marriage? And she is deter- 
mined.” 

“ He will make her do all sorts of mad 
things. A great deal will depend on how much 
she likes him.” 

“ She likes him — she is in love with him.” 

“ Well, he influences her, and that is what 
concerns me ,” said the count. “ Influence is 
more important than love.” He spoke the word 
“ love ” as though it were pudding — a thing he 
no longer ate. 

“ I have often noticed, darling,” said Bertha 
plaintively, “ that many women who love their 
husbands never think of obeying them.” 

“ Feldershey, at any rate, will see that he 
is obeyed,” said Rixensart, leaning over the sofa 
and fixing his expressive eyes on his wife. 
“ The English War Office hasn’t forgotten him 
yet. The man to cultivate, therefore, is Felder- 
shey. Do you understand?” 

“ Yes,” said the countess. 

“ I gave him a pretty strong lead at dinner 
last night, and if he doesn’t take an early op- 
portunity of giving me a governorship, I shall 
make myself disagreeable.” 

“ Oh,” said Bertha, in alarm, “ you are not 
going to do anything heroic, are you, darling? ” 
75 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ You see what you can do with him first. 
Try and find out what he is driving at, and 
manage him better than you managed Prince 
Adolf.” 

“ Darling ! ” said the lady, protesting. 

“ I have allowed that vain old fool to caper 
round you in the hope that you would get him 
to do something for me. He hasn’t done a 
thing.” 

“ He is very thick-headed, dear.” 

“ Well, I am sick of it, and, for the future, 
just see a little less of him. In the meantime, 
we must sit on the fence, and watch which way 
the cat jumps.” 

“ I hope it will be a nice comfortable padded 
fence, darling,” said Bertha anxiously, “ for 
somehow, nowadays, cats don’t seem to jump 
at all!” 

“ Well, cat or no cat, you have got to 
change your tactics. Now I have got to go 
and look after that infernal Crown Prince of 
Alberia.” 

And, with a glance which was not so unaffec- 
tionate as it was commanding, the Master of 
the Horse hurried away through the gilded 
doors of the private chapel of the princess. 

Bertha had decided, long before her husband, 

76 


WIRES ARE PULLED 


that Lord Feldershey was the man to cultivate, 
and to that end she had employed all her gifts 
and talents actively. She had realized, at a 
glance, that she was not what is technically 
known as his lordship’s type — for the prettier 
the woman, the less apt is she to be vain in 
the estimate of her own powers over men. 
From easy experience, every beauty soon learns 
the kind of man to whom she can irresistibly 
appeal, and she is usually most good-humored 
in owning her powerlessness over the particular 
class of individual who will prefer opposite at- 
tractions to her own. Although the Princess 
Margaret and Countess Rixensart were first 
cousins, and each was considered peculiarly fas- 
cinating to the other sex, they were so unlike 
in every way, and to such an extreme degree, 
that, while any one might have admired both 
as representing two distinct schools of coquetry, 
no one could have loved both. It was clear to 
Bertha that Feldershey’s infatuation for Mar- 
garet had become part of his constitution: that 
it belonged to those curious attachments which 
can be disturbed, denied, and disguised, but 
never broken. Such attachments may die when 
the man dies: they can sleep for years — only 
to wake with consuming force. Bertha was in- 

77 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


capable of inspiring such an affection, nor did 
she even wish for such a thing. She was light- 
hearted and shallow, cold in her soul, but tender 
in her manners: if she had no passion, she cer- 
tainly had no vices; and if she was not romantic, 
she was dainty in her sentiments. In the art 
of conducting a love-suit nowhither, she ex- 
celled; and she had persuaded each of her 
admirers, in checking their boldest aspirations, 
that the effort cost her pangs for which the 
proud sense of having remembered her duty 
was a stern consolation. By this method she 
offended none and compelled a certain respect — 
if not for her honesty, at least for her pru- 
dence. She did not doubt that she could obtain 
a few impersonal favors from Lord Feldershey, 
so long as she asked for them with childish 
candor and accepted them, for her husband’s 
sake, as kindnesses from a relative by marriage. 
The very fact of her near kinship with Mar- 
garet gave her a real claim to Feldershey’s re- 
gard: he liked her quite well, she thought. 

Bertha’s reverie was broken in upon by the 
voice of Hassell : “ Her Royal Highness is try- 
ing on her shoes, and she desires the Countess 
Rixensart to go to her.” 

The countess made a gesture of impatience, 

78 


WIRES ARE PULLED 


patted the curls on her forehead, smoothed 
down her tight little bodice, which fitted her 
like a glove and tripped toward her cousin’s 
bedroom. 



79 



CHAPTER VI 


IN WHICH THREE PEOPLE ARE NERVOUS 



ADY FELDERSHEY had risen that 
morning early, and driven in to the 
Protestant church to pray for bless- 
ings on her son’s wedding-day. She 
was proud of the match, and yet it was not a 
marriage she had ever really wanted. Mar- 
garet’s position and brilliancy made her almost 
too remarkable as a daughter-in-law. Lady Fel- 
dershey, moreover, had always hoped to see her 
son united with some docile daughter of an Eng- 
lish duke, a sweet girl whom she herself, as 
the dowager, could guide and govern. The 
idea of guiding and governing the Princess 
Margaret was unthinkable, and Lady Felder- 
shey, who was rightly considered a very great 
lady indeed in Great Britain and Ireland, real- 
ized, in spite of Margaret’s tact, that, so far 
as Europe was concerned, the two women met 
80 



THREE PEOPLE ARE NERVOUS 


on difficult terms, so considerable was the dif- 
ference in their rank. In private, all went well 
enough; everything could be easy, natural, in- 
timate, unceremonious, even homely; but in 
public, Lady Feldershey was obliged to efface 
herself completely, and observe the official dis- 
tinctions which exist between royalties and those 
who are not royal. She thought and believed 
that she did not mind this : in the depths of her 
heart she hated it. As she returned from the 
church to the fine suite of rooms which had been 
placed at her disposal in the princess’s villa, she 
wept bitterly under her thick veil. She would 
have wept in any case on her son’s wedding- 
day, because the meekest wife in the world 
would still have the first claim upon his love 
and the first right to his attention. Was not 
this the law of Christianity? Her ladyship, 
as a devout Christian, could not quarrel with 
it. But, as a human being, she wept. On enter- 
ing her room, she was somewhat cheered to 
observe her beautiful new gown spread out on 
the bed, and to remember that, when she had 
tried it on, it had proved exceedingly becoming. 
Her maid prevailed upon her to take a short 
sleep — with the result that she awoke an hour 
later in fairly good spirits, and with the strength 
81 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


to bear herself at the ceremony with the air 
of gratification universally considered appro- 
priate for such an occasion. 

The bride, on her part, had slept serenely, 
had been called at her usual hour, had rushed 
to the window to examine her complexion, had 
read and written a number of letters. If she 
was agitated, she did not show it. To begin 
with, she had no doubt about the good sense 
of her choice. True, she felt that Feldershey 
nursed some secret grievance against her: that 
he had never forgiven her laughter, five years 
before, at his love. He had a grudge, and he 
could not bury it. He was a bad-tempered 
man; an unreasonable man; an ungracious man; 
an exacting man; a man who sulked; a man 
whose way of loving was anything but tender; 
a man who did not understand women; a man 
who hurt her feelings constantly, sometimes 
not meaning to do so, sometimes by design; a 
man, in fact, whom she found it most difficult 
to love — up-hill work. 

“Do I love him?” she asked the Baroness 
D’Albreuse. 

“ Do you blush when he comes into the room, 
ma’am?” suggested the baroness. 

“ I blush sometimes when a hair-dresser comes 
82 


THREE PEOPLE ARE NERVOUS 


into the room,” answered Margaret, “ but I 
have never blushed when Lord Feldershey 
came in.” 

The baroness, whose knowledge of the great 
passion had been drawn exclusively from novels, 
did not know what to think. 

“ If I love such a man,” Margaret told her- 
self, “ it is because he is my fate, from which 
I cannot escape, and not because I could ever 
wish to love him.” 

This made her hard lot easier and her res- 
ignation complete. Why trouble? why think 
any more? why question the will of the gods? 
She saw tragedy in the situation ; it was tragedy 
by sunlight — with perpetual midsummer and its 
storms in the atmosphere. 

Feldershey, meanwhile, had not closed his 
eyes all night. He had paced the floor of his 
room until he could bear it no longer. Then 
he descended to the garden, and wandered there 
till daybreak. He could not call himself happy, 
and yet he was not unhappy. He wondered 
what would happen: he wondered whether he 
had made a mistake; and yet he was perfectly 
certain that he was doing the right thing. The 
fact that he was suffering from jealousy never 
occurred to his mind. He called the malady 

83 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


by every other name, and he told himself that 
it was a pity he could admire, yet remain wholly 
unable to love, his future wife. Such is the 
force of self-deception. It was really a thou- 
sand pities, he told himself again and again; it 
was tragic; he did not love her, and he could 
not pretend to love her. She had cured all 
that by her own conduct long ago. It was sad; 
it was awful. Then he wondered about Baver- 
stock. What had she seen in Baverstock? 
How could she call him handsome? He sup- 
posed that it was the type of vulgar comeliness 
which attracted even the most refined of women. 
How revolting ! How inexplicable ! He had 
tried, on one or two occasions, to introduce 
Baverstock’s name into the conversation, but 
Margaret had invariably changed the subject. 
Once he caught her exchanging a quick glance 
with Bertha, and he decided that the Countess 
Rixensart could have thrown, had she chosen, 
much light on the subject. But he scorned the 
notion of discussing Baverstock and Margaret 
with the Countess Rixensart. No, whatever 
the story was, he would hear it from Margaret 
herself — no one else. At last the hour came 
for dressing, and his servant, who helped him 
into his uniform, found his lordship taciturn 
84 


THREE PEOPLE ARE NERVOUS 


and surly, nevertheless anxious to look his 
best. 

“ She does not think me so handsome as that 
poodle Baverstock! ” he thought. 

Nor was he so handsome as Baverstock — 
point for point. He had not Harry’s straight 
nose, his curved lips, his head of smooth, light 
blonde hair, his long eyelashes, his melting eyes, 
his general air of a lover in story-books. 

“ Inexplicable ! ” ejaculated Feldershey aloud, 
and his servant thought he was swearing at his 
top-boots. 

“ Who is that knocking at the door? ” he 
shouted presently. 

“ It is I.” 

He recognized his mother’s voice, and, with 
one boot on and the other in the middle of the 
floor, his lordship limped across the room and 
opened the door himself: 

“What is it?” 

Lady Feldershey stood before him in her 
fine velvet gown and her toque, composed of 
artificial Gloire de Dijon roses and real Vene- 
tian lace, from Virot’s. She carried in her hand 
a large, unmistakably English, bouquet. 

“ I know it is not correct for a royalty to 
carry a bouquet,” said Lady Feldershey, pro- 
7 85 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


nouncing the word as though it were “ bookey; ” 
“ but gardeners don’t know that, and, as dear 
old Addison made this himself, and sent it from 
Berkele, I’m sure Margaret would like to 
see it.” 

Feldershey took the bunch from her hand 
and plunged his face into it, inhaling the fra- 
grance of the jasmine. 

“ So these are from Berkele,” said he. 
“Jarvis!” 

“ Yes, my lord,” said his servant. 

“ Will you take this to Her Royal Highness, 
with Lady Feldershey’s love, and say it comes 
from Berkele Abbey? We know she cannot 
carry it, but it is from our old gardener.” 

“ Isn’t that rather too informal, dearest 
boy?” said Lady Feldershey timidly. “Can 
Jarvis take such a message?” 

“ Do as you are told,” said Feldershey, 
stamping his foot. 

“ Yes, my lord,” said Jarvis, and he hastened 
away. 

Lord Feldershey turned to his mother with 
the defiant expression which she knew too well, 
and as she felt utterly unequal to the strain of 
meeting it that morning, she closed her eyes 
with an air of fatigue, and sank upon the sofa. 

86 


THREE PEOPLE ARE NERVOUS 


“ I wonder if I can just rest here a few 
minutes. I hope I look all right,” she mur- 
mured. 

“Charming!” said Feldershey, absorbed in 
studying his own reflection. 

“ There is one thing I want to ask you,” said 
his mother, looking round the splendid room 
and owning to herself that he had little indeed 
to complain of in his fate. “ There is one thing 
I want to ask you,” she repeated: “you won’t 
mind ? ” 

“ That means I ought to mind! ” 

“ No, no, but — I am worried. Has Mar- 
garet told you nothing yet about her visit to 
the studio? And Baverstock? ” 

“ No ! ” said Feldershey, wheeling round and 
hurling another dart of wrath from his eyes to 
her soul. 

“But you intend to ask her, surely?” said 
Lady Feldershey, sustained this time by the 
mere fact that she was, after all was said and 
done, his mother. Had she not found the 
strength, thirty years before, to send him re- 
peatedly to bed without his tea? “But you 
intend to ask her, surely? ” she said again. 

“ No; she must tell me herself. If you can’t 
see that, you can’t see anything! Call it my 

87 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


pride if you like: call it her pride too. It is 
pride! No doubt she will tell me in her own 
way and at her own time.” 

“ And you want her to tell you in your own 
way and at your own time ! ” 

“ I dare say,” said Feldershey irritably. 

The conversation was interrupted by the en- 
trance of Jarvis, who had the bridal-morning 
smile of a favorite, if frequently grieved, re- 
tainer. 

“ Her Royal Highness desires your ladyship 
to go to Her Royal Highness’s apartments.” 

“ Certainly, certainly,” said her ladyship; 
“ and take that piece of thread off my train, 
Jarvis.” 

Feldershey opened the door for his mother, 
and, as. she passed him, gave her a smile of 
approval. She was looking extremely hand- 
some, and when beauty did not enrage him, 
it made him good-humored. But Jarvis caught 
his good-humor on the rebound. 

“ What is the matter with that infernal 
boot?” 

The rest of the monologue was more expres- 
sive than coherent. Decidedly his lordship was 
upset. 

“ Her ladyship always upsets him,” thought 

88 


THREE PEOPLE ARE NERVOUS 


Jarvis: “most women do, and especially Her 
Royal Highness.” 

“ I am leading,” said Feldcrshcy, at the end 
of his worst utterances, “ an unnatural life, you 
fool!” 



89 



CHAPTER VII 

IN WHICH AN ANGRY GENTLEMAN IS SOOTHED 

HEN Lady Feldershey was ushered 
into Margaret’s apartments, Bertha 
was dismissed, and, humming “Au 
clair de la lune,” she tripped 
back again to her little task at the writing- 
table in the private drawing-room, or, as it 
was called, the Saloon of the Quatre Saisons, 
because of the frescos on the walls. To her 
astonishment and pleasure, she observed Lord 
Feldershey seated in her place and scrutinizing 
his own features in the gilt mirror supported 
by a gilt Venus which stood by the inkstand. 
Should she go forward and speak to him, or 
should she wait modestly until she was noticed? 
Suddenly, her eyes fell upon “ The Flute of 
Pan,” which stood on an easel near the balcony. 
Clasping her hands, she took up a position in 
front of this masterpiece, and sighed so deeply 
90 




A GENTLEMAN IS SOOTHED 


that Feldershey was thus made aware of her 
presence. 

“ How nice of you not to stare at me! ” he 
exclaimed, much touched by her exhibition of 
interest in his work. “ If there is any one on 
earth who both looks and feels ridiculous, it is 
a bridegroom.” 

“ Do you know,” said Bertha, with great 
gravity, “ this picture fascinates me? I cannot 
leave it. If I go away it calls me back. It 
must be Pan’s music. Have you yourself ever 
heard it? ” 

“ No, never,” said Feldershey, “ but I be- 
lieve in it.” 

He went to the window and gazed at the 
Alps in the distance. Bertha studied his back, 
and wondered what she could say next. He 
was certainly unresponsive. 

“ How you must have suffered,” she mur- 
mured, “ in order to paint like that! ” 

This appeal to his egoism did not fail. He 
turned round and looked at her with kindness. 

“ What do you know about suffering, little 
lady?” 

“ Oh, a great deal,” said Bertha piteously. 
“ But you don’t understand — nobody under- 
stands — and yet I hoped that you might.” 

9i 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ I do, my child, I do.” 

“ Would you call me silly? ” she asked. 

“ Certainly not; you are very clever.” 

“ You feel that because you are an artist. 
My husband thinks of nothing but his career. 
I don’t suppose,” she added innocently, watch- 
ing his expression, “ that Frederick will ever be 
really contented until he gets a governorship in 
the hills.” 

“ Do you mean to say he wants to imprison 
you up in the hills — a pretty, bright little 
woman like you? ” 

The compliments were charming, but he ut- 
tered them without feeling, and went back to 
the writing-table. 

“ Yes, he does. But if Frederick does get 
a governorship,” continued Bertha, undaunted, 
“ Margaret might let me come down and 
visit her sometimes. I like to tell you my 
troubles.” 

At this point she went to him, put her tiny 
hand on his; then, as though she had taken a 
liberty, she withdrew it prudishly, and managed 
to convey the idea that she thought she had been 
betrayed into giving him a caress. 

“ May I tell you more another time? ” 

Feldershey did not hear her. His glance fell 
92 


A GENTLEMAN IS SOOTHED 


on the envelope addressed in Baverstock’s hand- 
writing to the Princess Margaret. It was the 
envelope which had contained the note which 
Bertha had secured that morning. 

“Isn’t that Baverstock’s writing?” asked 
Feldershey, with assumed indifference. “ What 
a fist!” 

“ Oh, he just sent a little note to Margaret,” 
said Bertha, terrified; but she seized the en- 
velope as she spoke, tore it up, and threw it 
into the waste-paper basket. “ I mustn’t stay. 
You are too interesting,” she said. Then she 
touched his shoulder, and added, in a tone of 
deep concern, “ Something is troubling you, 
isn’t it?” 

“ No, no,” said Feldershey, rousing himself; 
“ you mustn’t think that. But marriage means 
a new life for me.” 

“ Darling Margaret is such a handful,” said 
Bertha artlessly. 

“A brilliant creature — very proud; but then 
she has always had her own way — and I have 
got to have mine ! ” Here, his expression made 
the gentle dove shiver. 

“ It is a mistake to be weak with her,” said 
Bertha. “ All the other men have always been 
so weak.” 


93 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ The — other men,” said Feldershey 
thoughtfully. 

“ She could always twist them round her lit- 
tle finger,” continued Bertha. “ Dear Mar- 
garet is too wonderful in that way, because, al- 
though she is an angel of goodness, she has 
always had such very amusing times! I have 
always said that no other woman could ever 
have carried off, with success, the situations 
which she seems to have managed perfectly. 
You see, so few men have her strong will. I 
hardly know one who, if it came to the point ” 
— Lord Feldershey ground his teeth, where- 
upon Bertha added hastily: “You are the one 
man, I think, whom she respects. She has never 
flirted with you. One doesn’t flirt, does one, 
with the man one marries? Frederick and I 
never flirted. It is the best beginning in the 
long run. But I must go away; it wouldn’t do 
if I were found here.” 

Feldershey did not attempt to dissuade her 
from her purpose ; but he thought her a straight- 
forward, well-meaning, sympathetic woman. 
Without tact, perhaps; but these tactful women 
were by no means the most sincere, nor could 
they always be trusted. 

It was a thousand pities that he could admire, 

94 


A GENTLEMAN IS SOOTHED 


yet remain wholly unable to love , his future 
wife. It was tragic: he did not love her , and he 
could not pretend to love her. And the envelope 
in Baverstock's handwriting! An abomination! 
It was sad; it was awful, etc., etc., and the rev- 
erie of the morning, as it were a leit-motif in an 
opera, recommenced. 



95 



CHAPTER VIII 



CONTAINING THE PLAIN LANGUAGE OF A 
PRETTY LADY 

ASSELL had informed one of Her 
Royal Highness’s dressers, and the 
dresser had informed the Baroness 
D’Albreuse, and the baroness told 
the princess that Lord Feldershey was talking 
with the Countess Rixensart in the Saloon of 
Les Quatre Saisons. Margaret, at the moment, 
was on the point of removing the lace jacket 
which she had worn over her finery during the 
arrangement of her coiffure. She had been in 
her sweetest humor, for she had mingled her 
tears with Lady Feldershey’s over the bouquet 
from Berkele, and the two ladies had enjoyed 
a sentimental conversation without any of the 
restraint imposed by reason. All women are 
sentimental, and when they can indulge their 
cravings in that direction without fear of being 
96 



PLAIN LANGUAGE OF A LADY 


misunderstood or laughed at, their gratification 
is extreme. 

The scene had opened in the most auspicious 
manner, for, while Lady Feldershey was, as it 
were, in full armor, and all the bravery of 
her wedding-garments and her jewels and her 
inimitable toque, Margaret had not proceeded 
further with her dressing than her corsets and 
a short silk petticoat. It was the first time that 
Lady Feldershey had ever seen her at such a 
becoming and intimate disadvantage: she was 
thus able to forget entirely the atmosphere, the 
etiquette, and the artificiality of court life. 

“ And are you really happy about our mar- 
riage?” asked Margaret, with a directness 
which the ladies-in-waiting associated with her 
toilette at the short-petticoat stage. 

“ Boris has always loved you,” said Lady 
Feldershey, “ although he has a strange way 
sometimes. Look,” she added, removing a 
small miniature set in diamonds from one of 
her bracelets (she wore a number) : “ I have 
this little portrait of him when he was three. 
I wanted to give it to you quietly.” 

“ At three ! ” said Margaret, in an awe-strick- 
en tone, studying with as much curiosity as pleas- 
ure the small face in the miniature, which repre- 
97 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


sented a smiling, immobile child with very pink 
cheeks, very large eyes, and a thick shock of 
hair. 

“ The curls,” said Lady Feldershey proudly, 
“ were quite natural — his father had them cut 
off.” 

“ He seems to have been a stout little boy; 
his arms look too big for his sleeves.” 

“A very fine child! The lace frock was a 
present from the Queen. Don’t let him see it 
— he would never forgive me — but I thought 
you would like it.” 

“ It’s a darling! ” said Margaret, with such 
evident sincerity that Lady Feldershey withdrew 
her secret objections to the marriage. 

“ I knew you would like it,” she said, and 
succeeded in believing that at the beginning of 
the interview she had been perfectly convinced 
that it would end in that way. 

The ladies kissed each other again, and sepa- 
rated, each in the best of spirits. What then 
were Margaret’s feelings on having her serene 
mood crudely interrupted by the singular news 
— or the news which seemed singular — conveyed 
with so much concern by the ingenuous Mopsle. 
Her Royal Highness did not remove her lace 
jacket, and, having assured herself that Lord 
98 


PLAIN LANGUAGE OF A LADY 


Feldershey was no longer with Bertha, she 
walked straight into the saloon, where the 
Countess Rixensart was now wondering how far 
she had advanced her husband’s prospects. 

“What did Boris want?” asked Margaret. 
“ I heard his laugh.” 

“ He is nervous,” said Bertha, “ but I can 
always laugh him out of his bad humors.” 

“ Nervousness is not temper,” said the prin- 
cess, endeavoring to control her own. “ And I 
just want to say that you must drop this habit 
of yours of always trying to get Boris into cor- 
ners. You are always whispering or asking him 
to get things for you. The other night at the 
ball you made him march up and down with you 
after supper. What is he to do? He can’t re- 
fuse — you are my cousin. It is vulgar of you 
— it is really. I myself don’t mind, but it cre- 
ates so much bad feeling in the court. It looks 
like ” — she paused for the word — “ favorit- 
ism ! ” 

Bertha, with an air of pensiveness, observed 
with genuine concern: 

“ Perhaps I didn’t realize how attentive Boris 
was to me.” 

“ Attentive! ” exclaimed Margaret. “ He is 
not in the least attentive. He is a well-bred 
99 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


man. If you keep asking him to do things, and 
calling him here, there, and everywhere, he has 
to play up. Noblesse oblige! I have a great 
mind to tell him about Baverstock.” 

“ Oh, yes, do,” said Bertha, flushing scarlet, 
“ do the mean thing — tell him ! ” 

“ I will do so if you don’t show any regard 
for my wishes.” 

“ Still,” said Bertha, “ I don’t think he would 
be so shocked as you seem to suppose, or he 
wouldn’t have lent his studio to Mr. Baverstock 
for a meeting with a woman.” 

Margaret was startled at this idea. 

“ Did Mr. Baverstock tell him he was going 
to meet a woman? ” 

“ You can be quite sure he didn’t mention 
names: men never mention names.” 

“ I can only hope not. I don’t want to be 
ashamed of my own cousin. It’s a very disa- 
greeable story: I am not too proud of it.” 

Here she made a gesture which Bertha ac- 
cepted as the royal permission to sit down. 

“Thank you,” said Bertha meekly; but she 
chose the sofa, spread out her skirts, and sur- 
veyed the tip and the heel of her very pointed, 
thickly beaded shoe. 

“ I think you are very much in love with 

ioo 


PLAIN LANGUAGE OF A LADY 


Boris,” she said, with a reassuring manner 
which was, for some reason, most irritating 
to Margaret. “ You always pretended you 
weren’t.” 

Margaret tossed her head: 

“ That has nothing to do with it.” 

“ If this isn’t jealousy, I never saw it.” 

“ If I were going to be jealous, I shouldn’t 
be jealous of you, my dear Bertha ! ” 

“ I thought it seemed rather silly.” 

“ You never had any idea of dignity,” contin- 
ued the princess. “ You always make yourself 
cheap. Men hate women who run after them 
as you do ! ” 

“ I am not sure,” said Bertha, as though she 
were thinking aloud, and therefore irresponsible 
for the utterance, “ that men do admire this dig- 
nity — only they don’t call it dignity : they think 
you are constitutionally incapable of feeling! ” 

“ If I don’t show any feeling now,” said Mar- 
garet, turning pale with vexation, “ it is because 
I daren’t let myself go ! You, with your silly 
little notions and sentiments, can indulge them 
all day long. They take nothing out of you; 
they don’t hurt anybody else! But if I once 
began, it would be the most terrible rage and 
fury you ever saw. I would stick at nothing ! I 
8 ioi 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


am afraid of no one. I should defy the whole 
world. I am not fit for this age at all : I have 
to adapt myself to it. It is true I can’t mew — 
yes, mew and purr like you and the other pussy 
cats! So I set my teeth and say nothing. I 
endure, and I wonder ” 

The Baroness D’Albreuse, on hearing the 
princess’s voice pitched at an emotional level, 
thought it better to interrupt the conversation. 

“ The time is getting on, your Royal High- 
ness,” she mentioned, as she stood on the thres- 
hold of the saloon. 

Margaret thanked her, but continued her ad- 
dress to the Countess Rixensart. 

“ You must understand once for all,” said 
she, sitting down on the sofa and gazing well 
into Bertha’s eyes, “ that Boris belongs to me. 
And if there are any cushions to be carried, they 
must be mine ; and if there is any poetry to be 
read aloud, it is to be read aloud to me; and 
if there is any advice to be given, it is to be given 
to me; and if there’s any music to be turned 
over, it is to be my music. If there are any hats 
to be chosen, they are to be my hats; and if there 
are any opinions to be offered about dress, they 
are to be my dresses; and if any flowers are to 
be pinned in anybody’s hair, they are to be 
102 


PLAIN LANGUAGE OF A LADY 


pinned in my hair; and if any shoes have to be 
tied, they are to be my shoes! I won’t have 
my husband dancing attendance on any living 
creature except myself. Now, you had better 
go and see if Lady Feldershey has everything 
she wants. You might look after some of my 
women guests for a change ! ” 

Bertha rose, made her courtesy, gave a plain- 
tive smile, patted the curls on her own forehead, 
and smoothed down her tight little bodice — two 
precautions which she rarely omitted on entering 
or leaving an apartment — and went out. 

“ I can’t have Bertha in my house another 
hour, another instant! ” said Margaret, turning 
to the Baroness D’Albreuse. “ She flirts with 
Boris under my very nose. She thinks he likes 
her; she wants to make out that she understands 
him better than I do ! Better than I do ! I ask 
you — haven’t I told you that nothing would in- 
duce me to marry a man who went in for this 
kind of thing? It isn’t too late. Thank Heav- 
en ! it isn’t too late. Oh, I know 7 what you are 
going to say. You say I can’t possibly make a 
scandal at the eleventh hour — and for no earthly 
reason.” 

Here, the sound of horses below the window 
made her look out. 


103 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ There he is crossing the courtyard ! ” she 
exclaimed. “ Doesn’t he look splendid in his 
uniform?” She waved to him and smiled. 
“ Oh, yes, he can kiss his hand ! Of course he 
is devoted to me. I hope Bertha can see him. 
Just peep out of that window and see if she is 
watching. Is she? It serves her right! How 
dare she suppose that she has the least chance? 
Women are certain to run after him. He at- 
tracts them by his rudeness. Their only hope 
is that I shall lose my temper, get disagreeable, 
and drive him away. They make a great mis- 
take. If I were dying of jealousy, I shouldn’t 
show it. Nothing is so fatal. A jealous person 
gets more and more boring, and the other 
women, by comparison, seem more and more 
charming. My plan is quite the other way 
round. I intend to be a perfect darling, and 
the worse I feel here,” she pressed her heart, 
“ the happier I shall seem. I know it isn’t 
dignified to care so much, but I do care, I 
have always cared. He has spoiled me for 
all the others. I know he loves me, and I have 
never been able to love any one else as I love 
him.” 

“ Then why don’t you tell him so, ma’am? ” 
said the Baroness D’Albreuse. 

104 


PLAIN LANGUAGE OF A LADY 


Margaret, who was responsive to simplicity, 
was struck by the ingenuousness of the advice, 
but she shook her head : 

“ I can’t tell him yet, because, you see, I had 
to ask him to marry me — that was hard enough; 
and if I told him I was in love with him, I 
should call that bringing pressure to bear upon 
him ! I said it was for my country. He is the 
only man I could ever obey or for whom I have 
the least respect. If I lose him I shall never find 
another master; and if I have no master, I am 
a lost woman — a lost, wandering, quarrelsome 
woman! You are such a help always, dear 
Mopsle! I couldn’t live without you. You 
never liked Bertha, did you? ” 

“ Well, ma’am, I never approved of morga- 
natic cousins in the household.” 

“ I was sorry for her,” said Margaret. “ You 
see, her mother made a love-match ! My poor 
aunt ! ” 

“ If you please, your Royal Highness,” said 
one of the dressers, appearing in the doorway 
with the bridal-wreath and a bodice in her 
hand. 

u I am coming, I am coming,” said the prin- 
cess. “ It was a love-match, Mopsle, and the 
more I see of love the more I am convinced that 

l°5 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


it is indeed the wrath of the goddess as the 
Greeks understood it.” 

She was about to plunge into a dissertation 
on the nature of this tragic emotion, and the 
literature she had mastered on the subject, when 
the Count Rixensart, carrying a bundle of official 
papers, disturbed the conference. 

“ If you would sign these papers, ma’am,” 
said he; “we must be ready for all emergen- 
cies.” 

Margaret at once adopted her official manner: 

“ I read all these last night? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am, they are in order.” 

“ What about the children’s feast? ” said she, 
sitting down to the table and signing the docu- 
ments in a firm style because she was resolved 
not to appear nervous. 

“ In the present state of our finances,” said 
Count Rixensart, “ with a rebellion threatening, 
a feast to six thousand orphans is no joke; it 
will cost several hundreds.” 

“ That doesn’t sound much,” said Margaret, 
still signing in her best style, with matchless 
Ms and perfectly formed ts. 

“ Then the presents afterward,” continued 
Rixensart; “ these plates, ma’am, cost a shilling 
each.” 

io 6 


PLAIN LANGUAGE OF A LADY 


Margaret paused and picked up a metal plate 
which stood near the gilt Venus who held up 
the mirror. 

“ What a good likeness of Boris,” she ex- 
claimed; “ well worth a shilling! ” 

“ But how is it to be done, ma’am? One 
feast leads to another. It hasn’t stopped at the 
orphans.” 

“ I don’t wish it to stop at the orphans. 
There are the aged, the infirm, and the widows, 
and the disabled soldiers, and the discharged 
mariners ” 

“ But the funds, ma’am? This sort of thing 
runs into thousands — and this is not the moment 
for extravagance.” 

“ I will have my own way. You cannot say 
I am robbing the State if I pay for my own 
ideas with my own.” Here, touching her pearl 
necklace, she appealed to Mopsle. “ How much 
is this worth, Mopsle? ” 

“At least £10,000, ma’am,” said the bar- 
oness. 

“ Then you can pay for all the expenses out 
of these,” said Margaret, unclasping the neck- 
lace and handing it to Rixensart. 

“ But oh, ma’am, you are so fond of them ! ” 
exclaimed Mopsle. 


107 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


Rixensart, who was weighing the jewels in 
his left hand, asked quietly: 

“ Are these to be mortgaged, or sold outright, 
ma’am? ” 

“ Sold,” said Margaret. “ That is all — you 
may go.” 

The Baroness D’Albreuse scarcely waited for 
him to leave the room before she entreated the 
princess to reconsider her hasty caprice. 

“ Your heart will ruin you, ma’am. Let me 
lend the money. I’ve saved it up; it is in the 
bank.” 

“ No, you mustn’t tempt me; suppose the war 
comes, then I sha’n’t be able to repay you. I 
like to make a little sacrifice — haven’t I been 
happy in love? He is so strong, so serious, so 
brave ” 

“ Too serious for my taste.” 

“ I never thought of your taste, Mopsle — 
that is a funny thing! Try to endure him for 
my sake ! ” 

Then, once more, the dresser, carrying the 
bridal-wreath, the bodice, and a pincushion stuck 
full of pins, appeared in the doorway. 

“ If you please, your Royal Highness ” 

“ I am coming, I am coming,” answered Mar- 
garet; and this time she kept her word. 

108 



CHAPTER IX 

IN WHICH A GALLANT GENTLEMAN IS TWISTED 
ROUND A VIRTUOUS FINGER 

F all the royal family and connec- 
tions, the Prince Adolf of Nymwe- 
gen alone expressed satisfaction at 
his stepdaughter’s marriage. He 
believed it would answer admirably. He was 
too shrewd not to perceive the depth of Felder- 
shey’s contempt for an ornamental career, and 
therefore he saw himself, Prince Adolf of Nym- 
wegen, as the ruling power in the kingdom of 
Siguria. Boris would paint, Margaret would 
watch him painting, and Prince Adolf would be 
able to indulge his own passion for intrigue 
without let or hindrance. An obstinate man, he 
could only gain real strength and conviction by 
being opposed, and the warnings, murmurs, and 
tongue-wagging relative to the dangers of a 
royal love-match but seemed to make His Royal 
109 



THE FLUTE OF PAN 


Highness the more convinced of the security of 
his plans. 

On the morning of the wedding he was un- 
usually exultant, although he concealed his tri- 
umph by giving way to the hypochondria which 
was his occupation when he had nothing better 
to do, and his amusement when he was absorbed 
in serious affairs. Accompanied by Madame 
von Rauser, a dark, slight, elegant woman, who 
attracted him by her sympathy and repelled 
him with her care for her reputation, he walked 
up and down the corridor outside Margaret’s 
private apartments. 

“Oh, this marriage!” he exclaimed; “the 
fatigue, the responsibility! If I didn’t feel as 
though a rat were gnawing at my brain, and if 
I hadn’t this fearful pain in my eyes, I might 
almost manage to walk about a little. Just look 
at my tongue.” 

“ If you could rest now,” suggested the Mis- 
tress of the Robes. 

“ Impossible ! But these delays are quite 
wrong. It is very bad taste to keep the Crown 
Prince of Alberia waiting. He will not go into 
the chapel until he hears that the bride has 
absolutely started. How I wish it were all 
over! Margaret has been such a care to me, 


i io 


A GALLANT GENTLEMAN TWISTED 


and, to be candid, I don’t envy Feldershey the 
job of keeping her in order.” 

“ Oh, sir, what do you mean? ” said Madame 
von Rauser. 

“ There is no one so troublesome,” continued 
the prince, “ as a good woman with brains. A 
good stupid woman, I grant you, is a lamb; 
but a good clever woman is but one degree from 
the devil himself!” Here he threw her a 
glance which she might have taken for one of 
reproach. 

“ And yet,” observed Madame von Rauser 
thoughtfully, “ who could have been a better 
wife than the dear princess, her mother? ” 

“ My wife,” said Prince Adolf, “ had every 
virtue, including docility. But she was not 
clever, although she understood that a wife’s 
first duty was the duty of obedience. It is im- 
possible for any man to retain his self-respect 
when a woman disobeys him and defies him. 
He would far sooner have a faithless wife than 
an unruly one.” 

Madame von Rauser held up her hands, 
shook her head, and actually flushed. 

“ It is not for me to contradict you, sir,” she 
said, “ but it seems to me that a faithless wife 
is the most disobedient kind of all.” 


1 1 1 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ Don’t misunderstand me,” said the prince. 
“ Margaret’s disobedience is of that open and 
insolent variety which leaves no room for any 
sort of doubt as to her intentions. Infidelity, 
on the other hand, is often open to many 
doubts: it has to be proved — a most difficult 
thing; and, until it can be proved, a man may 
feel tolerably at ease.” 

Madame von Rauser pursed up her lips, and 
said that, as she had never been brought up to 
consider, and far less accept, modern philosophy 
on the gravest subjects, she must beg to be 
excused from offering a remark. 

“ It is not for me, sir,” she added, “ to con- 
tradict you, but as a woman I may at least 
resent in silence such dreadful ideas.” 

“ You have all the prejudices of a frump,” 
observed the prince, “ and I cannot think how 
you have kept them.” 

“ Neither can I ! ” said Madame von Rauser, 
“ but, no doubt, many of my ideas are due to 
my good parents, who gave me that strange 
thing in a Christian country — a Christian edu- 
cation ! ” 

Prince Adolf smiled, surveyed her figure, 
which he admired, and pulled at his mustache. 

“ I know my own lines,” said he, “ and so 


x 12 


A GALLANT GENTLEMAN TWISTED 


long as you understand them, we need not 
argue.” 

Then, looking up, he deliberately assumed an 
expression of extravagant pleasure at the sight 
of the Countess Rixensart, who stepped out into 
the corridor after her rather trying interview 
with Margaret. 

“ Oh,” she said, throwing up her hands in 
admiration of Prince Adolf’s appearance, “ oh, 
sir, how much smarter you look than the bride- 
groom! ” 

“ Nonsense ! ” said the prince. 

“You are perfect!” said Bertha. “My 
husband, on the other hand, is nothing but a 
uniform. Have you seen him? He is raging! 
Do you like the way my hair is done? ” 

“You are a perfect sweet!” murmured 
Prince Adolf, and Madame von Rauser walked 
away to the window. 

“ Why doesn’t my husband say charming 
things like that?” asked the Countess Rixen- 
sart. 

“ Oh, a pretty woman is thrown away on 
Rixensart! ” 

“ He thinks I am thrown away on you ! ” 

“ Is he jealous? ” asked Adolf, delighted. 

Bertha began to giggle, and she made a little 
113 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


face at Madame von Rauser’s back; an act of 
disloyalty which Prince Adolf was too human 
to check. He rather enjoyed it: he called her 
a wicked little thing, and a dialogue, composed 
of more or less opprobrious epithets, passed 
informally between them until they were in- 
terrupted by Count Marche, who came in on 
the brink of tears. It was a very hot day: he 
had been in charge of all the wedding-guests, 
and although he had taken part in many a hard 
day’s march, this was his first experience of a 
royal marriage. 

“ These informal ceremonies are enough to 
drive any man out of his mind! ” he exclaimed. 
“ The dukes never give the least trouble — they 
have gone to their places without a murmur — 
but some of the duchesses are fighting like 
tiger-cats! The Grand Duchess of Weben- 
Heben has gone to her room in hysterics 
because the Archduchess of Alberg is wear- 
ing all her diamonds after promising faith- 
fully that she wouldn’t. What is to be 
done? ” 

“ I can lend the grand duchess my rubies,” 
said Bertha. 

“ Then go to her; she is in despair.” 

“ A ruby at the right moment is better than 
114 


A GALLANT GENTLEMAN TWISTED 


crown jewels — at one’s banker’s!” said the 
young lady; and with a laugh and a courtesy, she 
ran in the direction of her own room, followed 
by the grateful Marche. 

Madame von Rauser now turned upon Prince 
Adolf with the question : 

“ Why do men not see through that 
creature? ” 

“ Oh, she is a child of nature ! ” 

“Bad nature!” 

“No, no; you misunderstand her.” 

“ The day will come,” said Madame von 
Rauser mysteriously, “ when you will eat those 
words ! ” 

“ I think,” said Prince Adolf, in a freezing 
manner, “ that I should now go to Margaret.” 

“ Sir, may I beg, in the name of a long and 
tested friendship, the permission to say what 
I think?” 

It has been said that Madame von Rauser 
had that brunette type of beauty, which, in the 
opinion of connoisseurs, lasts longer than the 
blonde’s more delicate gold, pink, and white. 

“ By all means say what you think,” said the 
prince, adding mentally, that her skin was re- 
markably good. And she was more than twenty 
years his junior. “ By all means,” he repeated. 
ii5 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“You know I value — even when I disagree 
with — your candor.” 

“ Then,” said Madame von Rauser, “ I wish, 
sir, I could see this marriage of our beloved 
princess quite in the same light as yourself.” 

“ Light! what light? ” said his Royal High- 
ness, perturbed. 

“ Lord Feldershey is not the man you take 
him for, sir. He gave up his career in a fit 
of temper — a temper, mark you, which lasted 
for five years; in another temper, which may 
last much longer, he might become ambitious.” 

“ Don’t be subtle, Frederica! ” exclaimed the 
prince. “ Don’t wrap up your idea till it be- 
comes so safe that I can make neither head nor 
tail of it! What do you mean? ” 

“ I mean, sir,” said Madame von Rauser, 
“ that we shall find ourselves under the hardest 
master we have had for many a long day in 
Siguria ! ” 

“Nonsense! Women’s fancies! Your im- 
agination runs away with you.” 

“ Sir,” continued Madame von Rauser, more 
impressively than ever, “ are you a student of 
the human countenance? Have you noticed 
Lord Feldershey’s mouth and chin? Have you 
considered his bringing-up and his tastes? ” 
ii 6 


A GALLANT GENTLEMAN TWISTED 


“ He is a very nice boy,” said Prince Adolf, 
a little shaken, nevertheless. 

“ Boy! ” said Madame von Rauser, “ he is 
a strapping major of dragoons — with several 
touches of the bully.” 

“ Really,” said Prince Adolf, “ your way of 
talking is positively dangerous. I do not think 
I can allow you to make these charges at 
random.” 

“ I am not making them at random, sir,” 
said Madame von Rauser. “ Lord Feldershey, 
as a man, may be a very steady man, but, 
just as you find immoral women amiable, I 
have found these men of excellent character 
exceedingly tyrannical in positions of author- 
ity.” 

“ So you expect me to believe that poor Boris 
is a tyrant? ” said Prince Adolf, more unhappy 
than ever; for he was always greatly influenced 
by Madame von Rauser’s opinion : such was his 
unwilling tribute to chastity coupled with in- 
telligence. 

“ The woman is right,” he would tell himself 
whenever he found himself alone, and able to 
be honest. 

“ Why do you tell me all these things now,” 
he asked, “ at the eleventh hour?” 

9 1 17 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ Because I have had a divided duty,” said 
Madame von Rauser. “ My first duty was to 
her Royal Highness, who, I see plainly, is in- 
fatuated. I have nothing against Lord Felder- 
shey, who, with all his faults, has a high opinion 
of good women.” At this point Prince Adolf 
visibly quivered. “ I do not feel,” continued 
Madame von Rauser, “ that Her Royal High- 
ness could make a better choice, given her 
peculiar disposition and her tastes. On the 
other hand, were I asked what I thought about 
your prospects, sir, in this matter, I should be 
obliged to say that your great experience of 
European politics, your brilliant statesmanship, 
your cautious policy, and your supreme tact in 
managing the country, would count for little 
against the mere brute force of the future Prince 
Consort.” 

“ I do not see it,” said Prince Adolf, now 
trembling. “ I wish you would not have these 
notions. You have almost succeeded in making 
me dislike the fellow, and you have absolutely 
spoilt my day. If you had told me all this a 
month ago ” 

“ A month ago,” said Madame von Rauser, 
“ I found great difficulty in getting so much 
as a word with your Royal Highness. Your 
1 1 8 


A GALLANT GENTLEMAN TWISTED 


Royal Highness’s time was very much taken up 
in breaking in the Countess Rixensart’s white 
ponies.” 

“Can this be jealousy?” thought Prince 
Adolf. He tried to think it was jealousy, 
but, as he walked toward his stepdaughter’s 
apartments for their last interview before 
the marriage ceremony, he felt a presentiment 
that his days of authority were drawing to a 
close. 

He found Margaret already* in her wedding- 
gown, surrounded by ladies-in-waiting, dress- 
makers, dressers, and maids. 

“ I am very nearly ready,” said her Royal 
Highness. 

“ I cannot speak — I can say nothing,” said 
Adolf. 

“ Neither can I ! ” 

“ This is a dreadful arrangement. You 
ought to have started before. And — good 
heavens! — why are you carrying a bouquet? 
Unheard of! ” 

“ These flowers came from Berkele,” said 
Margaret. “ They were sent to me by Boris’s 
old gardener.” 

“Very touching!” said Prince Adolf, with 
a sneer. “ But you cannot carry them.” 

119 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ I am going to make a new precedent. I 
think they are lucky.” 

The Baroness D’Albreuse arranged the veil. 
Madame von Rauser, who had now entered, 
took the mirror from the table and held it in 
front of the princess. 

“Now, are you ready?” asked the prince 
once more; “ because there are one or two things 
I wish to say before this solemn event takes 
place.” 

He led her to the window apart from the 
others, and spoke with great solemnity: 

“ You are a self-willed woman and Felder- 
shey is a determined man. One of you must 
give in, and, if I know anything about men, you 
will show your wisdom by allowing Feldershey 
to be the master. I am perfectly ill, my dear 
girl, and I cannot be eloquent. I don’t approve 
of the marriage — I think it absurd — and al- 
though I must offer my hand, please try to 
support me, because my knees are literally giv- 
ing way. I think it is time to start.” 

“ Yes,” said Margaret faintly, “ it is time.” 

“ When you have ruined Siguria,” continued 
her stepfather, “ broken your own heart, and 
exasperated Europe, remember I foretold the 
whole thing — remember that. Now, please 
120 


« 



“ 1 don’t approve of the marriage 



































* 












































































































































- 



























































































































































































A GALLANT GENTLEMAN TWISTED 


hold my hand firmly; I must have more 

grip.” 

Five minutes later they entered the chapel 
together: he, her nominal tower of strength; 
and she, the nominal ivy. 



I 2 I 



CHAPTER X 

WHICH DESCRIBES A CEREMONY AND THE 
UNCEREMONIOUS 

URING Prince Adolfs two last con- 
versations, Count Marche and his 
aides-de-camp had been engaged in 
soothing the outraged feelings of 
certain important peeresses among the wedding- 
guests. They would not go into the chapel by 
the main door. They swore they had the 
entree, and the foreign ladies of rank were hor- 
rified and interested in the exhibition offered 
them of English manners in the highest society. 

“ Surely,” exclaimed Lady Amersham, “ as 
the bridegroom’s aunt, I have an unquestion- 
able right to very different treatment.” 

“ I will speak,” said Lady Addlington to 
Lady Wimborough. “ If you won’t assert 
yourself, I must. Er — er — I understood that 
I was to sit in the tribune. What is the meaning 
of this yellow ticket? It says ‘ Gallery.’ ” 



122 



CEREMONY AND UNCEREMONIOUS 


“ It is probably a mistake,’’ said Marche, 
bowing. 

“ It is undoubtedly a mistake,” insisted Lady 
Addlington. 

“ I have known the dear princess ever since 
she was a tiny mite,” bleated Lady Kinnerleigh, 
a small person who resembled in some way a 
toy lamb. “ She would never wish me, I am 
sure, to sit anywhere except in the first row of 
the tribune.” 

Here the Duchess of Drossett, who was 
considered a very great beauty, and who was, 
beyond question, handsome, healthy, and — 
when she was acknowledged the supreme 
figure of every occasion — amiable, asserted 
herself: 

“ Can you tell me why Mrs. Bisley is stuck 
up there in such a splendid place? Who is Mrs. 
Bisley? Why this fuss about Mrs. Bisley? 
She must be told to come down. It is disgrace- 
fully managed. And where did she get those 
ropes of pearls? ” 

“ Mrs. Bisley — ” began Marche. 

Her grace interrupted him. 

“ On second thoughts, I would rather not 
know where she got those ropes of pearls ! ” 

“ Mrs. Bisley was given that place because 
123 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


she is near-sighted,” murmured one of the 
aides. 

The duchess turned upon him, recognized 
him as the son of a Graf whom she had once 
met at Munich, gave him a smile of recogni- 
tion, but observed: 

“ What nonsense ! ” 

“ I am stone deaf,” said Lady Wimborough, 
who had excited, perhaps, the liveliest interest 
in the foreign countesses by being dressed in 
what is called “ the picture style.” That is to 
say, she wore a Romney hat, an Egyptian scarf, 
a gown of old Japanese embroidery, and an 
amazing display of paste emeralds and ruby 
ornaments. Her auburn hair seemed on the 
point of escaping the hairpins; from time to 
time she clutched at her flimsy skirts as though 
they were in danger of falling off. 

“ I am stone deaf,” she said artlessly. “ I 
sha’n’t hear a word of the service unless I am 
in the choir. Isn’t there room for poor little 
me behind the choir? ” 

“ Yes, isn’t there room for her behind the 
choir? ” said Lady Addlington. 

Lady Kinnerleigh could not resist pointing 
to the astonished Italian and other guests. 

“ Don’t you hate those foreigners, darling? ” 
124 


CEREMONY AND UNCEREMONIOUS 


she observed, rather loudly, to the duchess; 
“ they are so infernally dull, and no earthly use 
to us. We shall never see them again.” 

“ Perhaps, duchess,” said Marche, stepping 
forward, “ you wouldn’t mind taking your 
place now.” 

“ Not next to Mrs. Bisley,” said the duchess. 

“ Certainly not; but, of course, as a great per- 
sonal friend of Her Royal Highness ” 

“ What is the difference, pray,” interrupted 
the duchess, “ between a friend and a personal 
friend? And I will not sit next Lady Wim- 
borough. I don’t like her deafness.” 

“ I thought, perhaps, next to the grand duch- 
ess,” said Marche. 

“ That is better,” said her grace. “ I don’t 
want to be tiresome, don’t you know, but one 
must, don’t you know, now and again — a little 
protest. One mustn’t be too free and easy — 
the example, don’t you know. One must re- 
member the lower orders are always on the look- 
out for a loophole.” 

She accepted his arm, and the other ladies 
followed, until Lady Addlington observed Lady 
Wimborough disregarding the rules of prece- 
dence. 

“ There goes Ethel,” she exclaimed, “ er — * 
125 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


er — dreadful manners, so pushing. She never 
knows her place.” 

The foreigners who were left were members 
of the oldest aristocracy in Europe; one of them, 
a French duchess, was under the impression that 
the ladies who had elbowed and pushed out in 
front of her were the ladies’-maids of Lord 
Feldershey’s relatives. An Italian princess mis- 
took some of the peeresses for gens who were 
not comme il faut. 

But at last the chapel was filled, and when 
Margaret entered with Prince Adolf, all other 
interests were forgotten in the excitement of 
criticizing the bride, estimating the cost of the 
jewels worn by those present, and wondering 
whether the princess and Lord Feldershey really 
cared about each other. The ceremony went, as 
Lady Amersham observed, “ without a hitch,” 
until the bridegroom, having received the ring 
from the hand of the priest, gave gold and silver 
to the bride, and said: 

“With this ring I thee wed: this gold and 
silver I give thee : with my body I thee worship, 
and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” 

Following the custom, he placed the ring first 
upon the thumb of the left hand of the bride, 
saying, “ In the name of the Father,” then upon 
126 


CEREMONY AND UNCEREMONIOUS 


the second finger, saying, “ And of the Son,” 
then upon the third finger, saying, “ And of the 
Holy Ghost,” then upon the fourth finger, say- 
ing, “ Amen,” and there he left the ring. 

After these acts of symbolism were accom- 
plished, the Countess Rixensart was seized with 
a slight attack of dizziness, and had to be led 
from the chapel by her husband. He took her 
out by the private door into the Saloon of Les 
Quatre Saisons, where she at once revived. 

“What on earth is the matter with you?” 
asked Rixensart. 

“ I felt so awful,” said Bertha; “ if I hadn’t 
come out that instant, I should have fainted 
dead away; and if I had done that, Margaret 
would have sworn I was trying to make myself 
more important than the bride.” 

“ Well, are you better? ” 

“I am all right the moment I am in the 
air.” 

Rixensart blinked, suggested that she might 
like a glass of water, but made no effort to get 
one. 

“ I have got to go back, you know,” he said 
presently. 

“ I don’t want you. Please don’t make a 
fuss.” 


127 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ I think,” he said, “ you have your stays too 
tight” 

“ What nonsense! Any one would get faint 
in that stuffy little chapel with the incense and 
the flowers.” 

“ It is not half so stuffy as your box at the 
Opera. You never faint at the Opera.” 

“ One hasn’t so many clothes on at the Opera, 
and the seats are more comfortable; and, be- 
sides, one can go to sleep at the Opera! Do 
leave me alone.” 

“ Have you got everything you want? ” 

“Yes, yes, yes! I have told you so twenty 
times ! ” 

Inspirations are always described as sudden; 
they were invariably sudden in Count Rixen- 
sart’s case. 

“ Look here,” he said, “ if you can spot any 
one among the guests who will buy these pearls 
at £10,000, fix it up.” And he drew out of his 
pocket Margaret’s famous pearl necklace. 

Bertha forgot her languor: animation shone 
in every feature. 

“ Does Margaret wish to sell them? What 
madness ! ” 

“ Anything to gain her point! This time she 
wants the money for her banquets to the poor.” 
128 


CEREMONY AND UNCEREMONIOUS 


“ But pearls — these ought to be kept in the 
family. I must think about it.” 

“ Yes, think about it, and don’t be flighty as 
usual.” With this admonition, he returned to 
the chapel, while his wife thrust the pearls into 
the bosom of her tight little bodice. 

Her next movements would have stirred the 
curiosity of an observer. She tripped on tiptoe 
to the door of Margaret’s apartments, listened, 
ran back to the chapel door, listened again, 
peeped over the balcony, and then actually 
ran to another door which led to the main cor- 
ridor. Hassell was there. He looked at her, 
she nodded her head; he beckoned myste- 
riously, and the lady returned to the center of 
the saloon as though she were awaiting a 
visitor. Hassell ushered in Harry Baver- 
stock. 

“ Oh, Harry! ” exclaimed the countess, hold- 
ing out her arms; “ how foolish you are! how 
reckless ! how mad ! ” 

“ All the same,” said the young man, embra- 
cing her with warmth, “ you managed to get 
here.” 

“ But how? ” said Bertha, leading him by the 
hand to the sofa, “how? By pretending to 
faint, by running every kind of risk.” 

129 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ It is as safe as possible,” said Baverstock. 
“ When can you meet me? ” 

“ Not in Florence,” said Bertha firmly, giving 
the bow of his necktie a little twist and removing 
a speck of dust from his incomparable coat. 

“ Then what is to be done? ” said the enam- 
ored gentleman. “ I can’t go on in this uncer- 
tainty.” 

“ You must wait till we get back to Siguria.” 

“ That means such ages.” 

“ No, it may be sooner than you think. Mar- 
garet’s honeymoon can’t last long. They have 
news to-day which means war. Lord Felder- 
shey may have to take command at any mo- 
ment.” Here the tender soul nestled closer to 
Harry and placed her tiny gemmed white hand 
on his very broad one. “ Have you ever played 
‘ Pat-a-cake ’ ? ” she asked, with a giggle. And 
they played “ Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s 
man ” for a second or two. The climax, “ Put 
it in the oven for Harry and me,” was a succes 
fou! “ That reminds me,” she exclaimed, 
“ Margaret wants to sell something for the 
poor. Do you want to buy me something 
pretty? ” 

“ Rather! ” said Baverstock, whose head was 
swimming. 


130 


CEREMONY AND UNCEREMONIOUS 


Bertha drew the necklace from her bodice. 

“ These pearls,” she said, holding them up. 

The young man, controlling a frown, weighed 
the pearls in his hand, and asked : 

“ Wouldn’t you rather have something nice 
and fresh from Bond Street? ” 

“ These are historical — they are magnifi- 
cent! ” 

“ Historical things ain’t so much catch as you 
think,” said Baverstock moodily. “ You must 
learn to look at market values — what securities 
will fetch in a hurry, darling pet.” 

But his darling pet began to look sulky. She 
moved away; the sweet little hands became 
rather hard little fists, with which she drummed 
a mournful tattoo upon her own knees. 

“ Have ’em if you like, precious,” he said 
hastily. 

“They are only £12,000,” said Bertha, in a 
tone of reproach. 

“ It is robbery,” said Baverstock, “ but have 
’em.” 

Bertha offered her cheek primly: 

“ Darling, generous boy ! The moment you 
get back, send a cheque to the princess with a 
nice little note.” 

“ I will.” He kissed her cheek, and a certain 

131 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


coldness in her discretion made him aware that 
for £12,000 he could scarcely expect any active 
demonstration of affection on her part. “ This 
is all very well,” he observed, following out his 
train of thought, “ but when shall I see you 
again, dearest darling?” 

“ In Siguria,” said Bertha. 

“ Good ! I’ll be there with my motor, and at 
the first chance we’ll whizz along to the bay, 
get on the yacht, and sail, my angel, before they 
have time to miss you ! ” 

“ To Venice first, and then to Paris. And 
shall we stop at the Ritz ? And then to London 
— and the house in Carlton House Terrace — 
and a box at the Opera ! ” 

“ Of course darling.” 

“ And Ascot! And, oh, the heavenly things 
we can do ! ” 

“ An ideal life ! But while we talk about it, 
we mustn’t miss it. One more kiss. Promise 
me one thing — you won’t throw me over. And 
you love me, don’t you? You will stick to 
me?” 

His impetuosity and fervor almost alarmed 
the delicate creature. 

“ Oh, do take care! Don’t talk so loud,” 
she said. 


132 



u These are historical — they are magnificent 


5 5 


































































































































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CEREMONY AND UNCEREMONIOUS 


But her own protest was overwhelmed in the 
ringing out of the marriage chimes. 

“ They are married I ” she exclaimed, sinking 
into his arms, as though she were overcome by 
emotion. “ I am sure I didn’t feel half so ex- 
cited at my own marriage.” 

“ But swear you will stick to me,” said the 
business-bred Baverstock. 

“ I’ll swear, but it must be in my own way. 
You must trust me. Be careful — there is some 
one coming now.” 

They could hear a murmuring in the chapel, 
a murmuring in the corridor, and, above all, 
the swelling notes of the Wedding-March. 

“ Oh, why did you come?” she called, in 
terror. “ We shall be ruined! ” 

“ Oh, I’ll brazen it out and face the guests,” 
said Baverstock. “ They won’t notice me.” 

“But they will,” said Bertha; “they know 
every single person present. They are coming 
from the chapel now. All you can do is this,” 
she said, pointing to Margaret’s room — “ go in 
there.” 

“ Why not the balcony? ” said Baverstock. 

“ The sentry is there,” said Bertha, wringing 
her hands. 

“ I’ll square the sentry.” 

10 133 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


She stamped her foot. 

“ No, don’t interfere! I must do that. All 
you can do is this. You must go in there. The 
moment you hear any one coming in, slip out 
of the window on to the balcony, watch your 
chance, then go straight along to the pavilion. 
I’ll be there waiting for you, and will let you 
out. The only danger is during the next ten 
minutes, and the danger of that is fearful. Go 
— go — make haste ! ” 

She pushed him into the room, and rushed 
away down the corridor. A moment later the 
chapel doors were thrown open, and the bride 
and bridegroom entered hand in hand. 



134 



CHAPTER XI 



WHICH DESCRIBES SOME UNUSUAL LOVE- 
MAKING 

HE bride wore a gown of white and 
silver, with a train of beautiful sil- 
ver embroidery and a magnificent 
lace veil over two hundred years 
old. She had been pale before the ceremony, 
now she was slightly flushed; whereas Lord 
Feldershey, who had been flushed before the 
ceremony, was now morbidly pale. The chapel 
doors had no sooner been closed behind them 
than his countenance, which had been officially 
amiable during the service and the procession 
down the aisle, became severe. They were both 
visibly embarrassed, and when a band began to 
play beneath the window, they were both re- 
lieved to have the silence broken. 

“ What is that? ” said Feldershey. 

“ It is a serenade,” said his wife. “ How 
charming of them ! I think we ought to show 
ourselves.” 


135 



THE FLUTE OF PAN 


Hand in hand they went to the window to- 
gether, and bowed from the balcony to the 
crowd which had assembled below. At the sight 
of the newly married couple, the spectators 
clapped for joy in the Italian manner, and shout- 
ed bravas and bravissimos for the Principessa 
Marghertai and II Principe. The happy pair 
were then offered a second welcome diversion 
by the entrance of Prince Adolf, who hurried 
in to congratulate them heartily. Toward Lord 
Feldershey his manner was studiously paternal 
and authoritative. After delivering a certain 
number of pretty speeches, and brushing away 
some imaginary tears (which he wished to be 
regarded as furtive) from his fierce black eyes, 
he said he would have to look after the various 
other princes and the grand dukes. 

“ Marche tells me,” he added, “ that they 
have been so tiresome about their seats in the 
chapel, that I dare not think what they will be 
at the luncheon-table. If you take my advice, 
you will both rest here for a quarter of an hour, 
and give them time to settle down.” 

He then hastened out, and, for the first time 
in their experience, the couple were sorry to see 
him go. 

“ It doesn’t take long to get married, does 
136 


SOME UNUSUAL LOVE-MAKING 


it?” said Feldershey, looking thoughtfully at 
Margaret, who sat by herself on the sofa. 

“ You see,” she answered, “ the archbishop 
speaks very quickly, and, as you dislike sermons, 
I told him not to give an address.” 

“ I am glad I was spared a sermon,” said 
Feldershey, with forced indifference. “ Thank 
you ! ” 

“ He is such a dear old man.” 

“ Could you see half the people? ” asked the 
bridegroom, after another pause. 

“ I am afraid I couldn’t.” 

But, as she was in high spirits, she was de- 
termined not to be depressed by any amount 
of bad acting on Feldershey’s part. She felt 
and saw that his manner was artificial, although 
she knew him too well to waste her wits in 
endeavoring to discover his secret motive for 
such an elaborate assumption of carelessness. 

“ Do you agree with those who think that 
women always look their worst on their wed- 
ding-day? ” she said. “ I have been trying to 
look nice.” 

“ You have succeeded,” said Feldershey, with 
his first smile. “ You look charming.” 

“ Why didn’t you say so? ” 

“ Because you knew it.” 

137 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ No, I didn’t; but I wanted you to think 

SO. 

u How could I help thinking so? ” said Feld- 
ershey, with real admiration. “ Haven’t I al- 
ways thought so? ” 

“ It is pleasant,” murmured Margaret gently, 
“ to be reminded of it.” 

Feldershey moved a step nearer. 

“ Oh, you are all children,” said he, “ spoiled 
children,” and she inferred that he was thinking 
of women in general. 

“ You may say what you please,” she pro- 
tested, “ but you look much better in your uni- 
form than you did in that hideous blouse. If 
I had first met you in a blouse, I am not sure 
that, even for the sake of my country, I could 
have — even for my country — Well, is it fair 
to have such a figure as yours and hide it in such 
a rag? ” 

“ You are still a child in many ways,” said 
Feldershey, softening under the flattery and 
putting his arm round her waist. “ I begin to 
realize that you belong to me. You are mine — 
I don’t seem able to believe it.” 

“ I believed it,” said Margaret ingenuously, 
“ the moment I heard the Wedding-March.” 

Feldershey sat down by her side on the sofa, 
138 


SOME UNUSUAL LOVE-MAKING 


and gazed with extraordinary earnestness into 
her face. 

“ I have no secret from you, Margaret,” said 
he. “ There is not a question I would not will- 
ingly answer ” 

“There are none I wish to ask; I am not 
an inquisitive woman.” 

“ Yes, but you are a young and beautiful 
woman,” he said. “ It is inconceivable that you 
have never cared for any one, and you could 
never have flirted; whatever it was, it must have 
been love. Love is in your face; it is written 
all over you.” 

“ Of course,” said Margaret. “ How could 
I have lived through all these troubles — how 
could I have kept my gaiety for the world and 
my fears from my people, if I had not had some 
remembrance, some ” 

The remembrance had been of himself, and 
the love had been for him, but he did not know 
that, and it pleased her peculiar humor to see 
that he was becoming jealous of himself. 

“ Ah, then there was some one,” said Felder- 
shey, with an anger and a bitterness in his tone 
which would have warned her — had she been 
less reckless and not so innocent — that she was 
playing on dangerous strings. 

139 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ You are jealous of that some one,” said 
Margaret eagerly. “ But how foolish of me! 
How could there be jealousy when there is no 
love? ” and she began to laugh because she was 
really amused at the complete success of her 
irony. “You forget our bargain; this isn’t a 
love-match,” she went on. 

She was so certain of his affection for her, and 
hers for him, that it did not occur to her that 
such a remark was a blunder. But the essential 
in conversation of the teasing kind between a 
man and a woman is that both should know in- 
disputably that they are dancing a dance. Mar- 
garet’s dance, on this occasion, was to Felder- 
shey a duel. She was throwing garlands while 
he was ready to hurl knives; therefore a kind 
of chill seemed to penetrate her gaiety, and an 
instinct, which she could not account for, told 
her that he was, for some reason, displeased. 
Still, such was her mood and her habitual de- 
fiance, that this unexpected effect of her raillery 
served only to incite her to further psychological 
adventures of the same indiscreet kind. She 
became supercilious, looked away, and sighed 
with such plaintiveness that he took her left 
hand. 

“ Oh, take care ! ” she exclaimed, snatching 
140 


SOME UNUSUAL LOVE-MAKING 


it away; “it might come off!” He had 
touched her wedding-ring. ‘ I must put another 
ring over it: the emerald and diamond, Aunt 
Frederica’s present.” 

At this, she moved away from him and from 
the sofa, and, walking to the writing-table, 
handed him the list of wedding-presents which 
Bertha had copied out. 

“ It is No. 32, I think,” she observed, divid- 
ing her attention between the mirror and the 
commemoration plate bearing his own portrait. 

Feldershey studied the list with languid in- 
terest until he reached the thirty-second line. 
Then his face grew black as a thunder-cloud. 

“ Baverstock is written against 32,” he said, 
tightening his lips and throwing down the 
paper. 

“ He sent me that sapphire comb,” said Mar- 
garet. 

“ What sapphire comb? I never saw it.” 

“Didn’t you? It is very handsome — no 
doubt because he is such a friend of yours.” 

“ He is no particular friend of mine,” said 
Feldershey, rising from the sofa and walking to 
the other side of the room. 

“ I have always understood that he was a 
great friend of yours,” said Margaret. “ Cer- 

I 4 I 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


tainly, you have known him a long time. I 
can’t think why I didn’t show you the comb. 
I’ll go and get it.” 

“ There is no hurry.” 

“ I should like to show it to you.” 

“ I am no judge of these things. These hair 
ornaments seem to me Fijian — a remnant of 
barbarism.” 

“ Ah, but this is really beautiful. I think 
it suits me. I thought of wearing it to-day, but 
I changed my mind.” 

“ I am glad you did.” 

“ But you haven’t seen it. It is one of Bou- 
cheron’s.” 

“ Who is Boucheron? ” 

“ Oh, you must know! ” 

“ You can’t expect me to remember all the 
jewelers in Paris.” 

“ You see you did know! How affected you 
are!” 

It was perhaps a misfortune that they were 
both profound and devout sentimentalists. 
Each was perpetually on the defensive with the 
other. Where one only of any two is senti- 
mental, intercourse is easy, because the more 
unabashed the companion the less restrained are 
the acutely fastidious in thought and feeling. 

142 


SOME UNUSUAL LOVE-MAKING 


This is why poets have loved cooks, and cooks 
have adored poets. A woman of coarse fiber 
would have grated on Feldershey’s taste, but 
she would never have been able to drive him 
to excesses of almost brutal antagonism. He 
did not know that Margaret’s manner was ar- 
tificial with him because it sprang naturally 
enough from her sense of being, so far as their 
relations were concerned, in a false position. 
And, in a false position, it is impossible for an 
honest woman to be anything in the world ex- 
cept as admirably artificial as her gifts will 
allow. The poor princess, who was much to 
be pitied, always spoke the truth, but in such 
a way that she often seemed to be uttering un- 
realities: she was, indeed, at a very cruel dis- 
advantage — a fact of which she was ever 
conscious, and had she not been sustained by 
a secret faith in Feldershey’s heart, she would 
not have persevered for one hour in her hope 
of working out their common salvation. She 
comforted herself by believing that she knew 
her man; and even when he appeared at his 
worst, she had the talent of remembering him, 
with vehemence, at his best. This talent is the 
peculiar talent of the wife-woman — a type dif- 
fering from every other whether married or 
M3 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


single — for many of the married are not wife- 
women by any means. In justice to men, it 
should be eternally borne in mind that any deep 
knowledge of really virtuous women can never 
be otherwise than restricted: for instance, if a 
man marries three times, and each time a Penel- 
ope, he may thus become well acquainted with 
three patterns of chastity coupled with uncom- 
mon beauty and sense. But whereas mistress- 
women are much alike and soon mastered, even 
in the character of wives, wife-women are full 
of surprises, even in the character of mistresses, 
and as hard to understand as the Sphinx. Of 
the latter variety, we have two famous examples 
in Heloise and La Valliere. Feldershey never 
tried to understand his own mother: he re- 
garded her as a creature apart from the usual 
blend of flesh and blood and spirit. He knew 
her ways, wondered at them, accepted them. 
He did not, however, propose to take Mar- 
garet blindly on trust. Oh no ! 

“ Was an invitation sent to Baverstock? ” he 
asked, with assumed lightness. 

“ For the wedding? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ He is away, you know. He has gone back 
to England. I’ll get the comb. Men always 
144 


SOME UNUSUAL LOVE-MAKING 


think that women exaggerate. It is really a 
magnificent present, far lovelier than anything 
the Empress sent.” 

She went, as she spoke, into her room, and 
Feldershey, after hesitating a moment, was 
about to follow her, when he caught sight of 
a man creeping along the balcony. 

“ What are you doing there? ” shouted Fel- 
dershey. 

“ Hush ! Don’t speak to me.” 

Feldershey now recognized him: 

“ Baverstock! What are you doing there? ” 
he shouted again. 

“ For Heaven’s sake, don’t ask me now. It 
is simply life and death! ” 

“ I’m not going to be put off that way ! ” 

“ I tell you there is a woman at stake — won’t 
that satisfy you? ” 

“ For God’s sake, what woman? ” 

“ I would sooner blow my brains out than tell 
you,” said Harry; and, making a signal to some 
unseen individual, he darted away. 

Feldershey was now in such a fury, that, if 
Margaret herself had not returned then and 
there, he would have pursued Baverstock, dis- 
covered Bertha waiting in the pavilion, and 
learned the whole story. But Margaret wore 
145 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


such an ingenuous expression; she seemed so ig- 
norant of the undeniable fact that Baverstock 
had just left her room, that Feldershey, with 
the injustice of jealousy, suspected she had been 
born a consummate liar. He had seen Baver- 
stock by a slight accident only. If Feldershey 
had followed Margaret immediately, or if he 
had opened the door for her — which he must 
have done if she had not gone out in an abrupt, 
unexpected way — he would never have seen 
Baverstock at all. The move had been daring 
but well planned. For the daring, there was, 
no doubt, some extreme necessity. These vari- 
ous points did not occur to him on the spot, but 
his military training had taught him to take in 
a situation, rightly or wrongly, at a glance, and 
to act, rightly or wrongly, but instantane- 
ously, on the first impulse prompted by his 
conclusion. 

“ They have put it away. I can’t find the 
thing,” said Margaret. 

She seemed pale, he thought; she had, as a 
matter of fact, seized the opportunity to cool 
her cheeks with a powder-puff. A harmless 
preparation of Messrs. Roger & Gallet’s — which 
comes faintly scented in little boxes — was thus 
mistaken for the pallor of guilt. 

146 


SOME UNUSUAL LOVE-MAKING 


“ Was anybody there? ” asked Feldershey. 

“ No; they have all been watching the wed- 
ding, I think.” 

“ I could have sworn I heard some one in 
there,” he said, watching her. 

“ You made a mistake.” 

“ That is very amusing,” he replied, with 
an ironical laugh. “ And that is all you have 
to say? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“ You have nothing to tell me? ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Nothing of the love which you say came 
into your life, and ” 

“ You see,” said Margaret, a little piqued, 
“ I put love under the general heading of dis- 
appointments.” 

“ You have nothing to tell me of the men 
you disappointed, or of the men who disap- 
pointed you?” said* Feldershey, unconsciously 
looking toward the balcony. 

“No, nothing,” said Margaret smiling; for 
she was wondering whether he himself had not 
disappointed her a little. 

“ If you would only tell me,” persisted Fel- 
dershey; “ why don’t you confide in me? ” 

“ I have nothing to tell,” she said lightly, 
147 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ nothing, at least, that you ought to hear — 
now.” 

It was possible, nevertheless, that she might 
have said more had not Marche entered with a 
letter in his hand. 

“ A note from Mr. Baverstock, ma’am. He 
brought it personally. It is marked ‘ Urgent,’ 
and Count Rixensart thought your Royal High- 
ness should see it at once.” 

Margaret, who was filled with astonishment, 
exclaimed : 

“ I thought Mr. Baverstock was in England! 
You say he brought it himself? Put it on the 
table.” 

She was really alarmed lest the letter should 
contain some reference to Bertha, for she 
thought it highly undesirable that Lord Felder- 
shey should form a bad impression of her near 
woman relatives. She believed in Bertha’s in- 
nocence, but she had too great an experience of 
the world to hope that Lord Feldershey, or any 
other man, would accept readily the idea of a 
strictly Platonic relation being maintained be- 
tween Harry Baverstock and any very pretty 
young married woman. Margaret’s view rested 
on her own theory that the least scrupulous lib- 
ertine must be moral if his women friends do 
148 


SOME UNUSUAL LOVE-MAKING 


not allow him any other alternative. She 
thought Bertha giddy, but too shrewd, apart 
from higher considerations, to compromise her 
reputation by any reckless intrigue. Feldershey, 
who was becoming more cunning hourly in ob- 
serving the changes in Margaret’s expression, 
discerned in her slight embarrassment on receiv- 
ing Baverstock’s letter a fresh proof of an agi- 
tated conscience. 

“ Why not read it? ” he said. 

“ There is no hurry,” answered Margaret. 

Feldershey strode over to the table, picked 
up the letter, and gave it to her with an unmis- 
takable air of command. 

“ After all,” Margaret thought to herself, 
“ why should I annoy him about Bertha’s af- 
fairs? It really is not good enough.” 

So she broke the seal and read the note, which 
informed her that he was on the point of placing 
with her bankers £12,000 for her pearl necklace. 
She colored to the roots of her hair, for the last 
thing she wanted was to let Lord Feldershey 
know that she had sold any of her jewels in 
order to give a festival for their wedding. She 
tore the note into fragments, and could find 
nothing better to say than: 

“ It is nothing.” 

11 


149 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ Men don’t write to you about nothing,” 
said Lord Feldershey. 

“ It is a private matter,” she said haugh- 
tily. 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon,” he said, shutting 
his teeth in a way she disliked, and walking 
straight away. 

“ Why are you so strange? What has come 
into your head? ” she asked. 

“ I have told you,” he said, wheeling round. 
“ I have already hinted it many times, in the 
hope that you would speak of your own accord. 
You still refuse — very well. I could wring it 
out of you — if I chose, I could face you with 
the facts.” 

“ Facts! What are you talking about? ” 

“ Remember then : I have waited; I have been 
patient. I thought, each day, as she knows me 
better, she will see that she can depend upon 
me; but no ! ” 

“ I don’t understand you. I can’t think of 
anything to say. You frighten me: everybody 
else speaks so differently to me.” 

“ I am, perhaps, your first experience of a 
man who will not fall in with intrigue and con- 
spiracy.” 

“Intrigue! Conspiracy!” 

150 


SOME UNUSUAL LOVE-MAKING 


“ Once more, will you be frank, and trust 
me?” 

“ There is nothing to tell.” 

“ I know there is something! ” 

“ How dare you say that? ” 

“ Dare ! I will not be deceived. I will not 
have you look at me and tell me not to believe 
the evidence of my own senses.” 

“ Of what do you suspect me? Why have 
you got this sudden suspicion?” 

“ It is not sudden. I have had it ever since 
that day you came to find me after five years 
of silence. That day, Margaret, I had a sus- 
picion which was almost a certainty — and now 
to-day ” 

“ To-day,” she said blankly, almost on the 
point of tears, “ when I wanted to have one 
really happy day — one utterly selfish, happy 
day ! ” 

“ I can face life, and I can face death, but I 
will not bear an insult to my intelligence.” 

“ How can you say such things to me? It 
is unendurable ! ” 

“ If you will be frank and trust me, you shall 
never regret it; if you defy me, you will find 
me the devil ! ” 

“ This is madness — an obsession! ” 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ Oh, I will fight your battles, but between 
us there will be ice — eternal ice! I will have 
the truth.” 

Some singers under the window struck up a 
serenade, and the unhappy lady, obedient to the 
habits of her life, went up to the window, 
bowed, smiled charmingly, and then returned 
again to Feldershey, whom she now faced with 
a countenance which required no powder to 
make it ashen. Her own temper was now fully 
roused. 

“ Hector soldiers,” she said, “ not me. I 
don’t care what you think — I don’t know what 
you suspect or what you say you know. As for 
me, I must be dreaming! ” 



152 



CHAPTER XII 


WHICH IS NOT TENDER 



|EANWHILE, on the other side of 
the door, in the corridor, Count 
Marche and Captain Bernstein were 
talking in great agitation. Bern- 
stein wore his traveling clothes, and was evi- 
dently exhausted. He had just returned from 
the capital of Siguria. 

“ Then you think the news is really serious? ” 
said Marche. 

“ When the Government goes to the expense 
of a special train,” said Bernstein, “ and I have 
been traveling with a luncheon-basket, without 
stopping day or night for three days, you can 
be pretty certain there is no time to be lost. The 
marriage with Feldershey has taken place in the 
very nick of time. He is the man they want.” 

“ I suppose it is only a little local insurrec- 
tion?” said Marche. “The whole affair can 
be stopped in half an hour? ” 

153 



THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“No; they mean business this time. They 
are all armed to the teeth. They have got some 
madman at their head : he has brought in a lot 
of religion. They won’t take money and they 
won’t listen to reason.” 

u H.R.H. won’t care for this news, you know, 
coming just on her wedding-day,” said Marche, 
rubbing his forehead. “ It isn’t exactly pleas- 
ant, is it? ” 

“ She knew it was coming,” said Bernstein. 
“ But, look here; so long as I must wait, can’t 
you get me something to eat? I’ve brought my 
message, and the rest is entirely with H.R.H. 
It has nothing to do with me. I’ve done my duty, 
and I suppose I may consider myself a bit now.” 

“ You can come to my room, if you like,” 
said Marche, “ and you shall have something 
at once. It isn’t a bit of use jumping on her 
with a lot of despatches before they have had 
luncheon. It is bad taste.” 

“ Well,” said Bernstein, u as she has this pri- 
vate property, I wonder she doesn’t chuck Sigu- 
ria and enjoy a little peace and quiet.” 

The two men turned on their heels and were 
continuing discussing the subject in a low voice, 
when Count Rixensart, carrying a despatch-box, 
came hurrying toward them down the corridor. 
154 


WHICH IS NOT TENDER 


“ Here is a nice business,” said he. “ H.R.H. 
must be informed at once, or there will be the 
very devil to pay.” 

“ Couldn’t the news be kept from her till to- 
morrow? ” asked Marche. 

“Till to-morrow!” exclaimed Rixensart in- 
dignantly. “You must be out of your mind! 
The news is grave, very grave. We needn’t 
say so to everybody, but we can’t bury our heads 
like a parcel of d d ostriches ! ” 

At the moment, therefore, that Margaret was 
saying to Feldershey: “As for me, I must be 
dreaming,” Count Rixensart, without much cere- 
mony, burst in upon them. 

“ Ma’am, here is a special messenger! ” he 
exclaimed. “ It is most pressing.” 

He placed on the table the despatch-box, 
which Margaret opened with trembling hands. 
She took out a letter and read it. 

“ There is a sudden rising in the hills,” she 
said, in a husky voice. “ They want you, Boris; 
they want you.” 

“ I am glad of that,” said Feldershey. 

“ They chose this moment because they 
thought we should be most unprepared,” she 
said. “ They want you now.” 

“ I am here — ready.” 

155 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ There is danger.” 

“ So much the better.” 

The princess turned to Rixensart: 

“ Order the horses — and a special train.” 

Feldershey placed his hand on her shoul- 
der and dismissed Rixensart, a signal which 
the Master of the Horse obeyed with a defer- 
ential bow. He had made up his mind to 
show the Prince Consort every possible re- 
spect. 

“ I must give orders for this affair,” said Fel- 
dershey, after Rixensart had gone. “ That is 
my part. I didn’t think it would come so soon; 
but I am glad to go. I shall be again in the 
old rush and excitement. And yet — remember 
this — that whatever I do, it will be done for 
you. I wouldn’t go back to that life for ten 
thousand devils — and yet I do it gladly to please 
one woman ! ” 

“ I suppose so,” said Margaret mechani- 
cally. 

“ If I am successful, you know, we shall leave 
this forever. That was your promise.” 

“ I am not going to break it — although you 
don’t make the prospect seem alluring ! ” 

“We could be so happy if you would only 

speak out, but with this barrier between us ” 

156 


WHICH IS NOT TENDER 


“ I don’t understand — I shall never under- 
stand. I cannot believe that I am awake.” 

“ Still so determined,” he said sadly. “ Mar- 
garet, I warn you, if you want cynicism, you 
shall have it. But I sha’n’t give in easily. I 
won’t leave one stone unturned to get the truth 
from your lips. Good-by.” 

“ Good-by,” said Margaret. 

She gave him her hand, which he barely 
touched, although he bent over it; then he 
walked swiftly away. She remembered that she 
still had to meet all the guests, thank them for 
their presents, keep up a radiant countenance, 
and blush under a fire of congratulations. Ten 
minutes passed. She remained just where he 
had left her. Then her pulse seemed to beat 
again, and she paced the floor until the sound 
of horses’ hoofs in the courtyard made her rush 
to the balcony. Feldershey had already mounted 
his horse; Bernstein and Rixensart rode by his 
side. He did not look back once, and she did 
not wave, nor make any sign that she was watch- 
ing him. This was how Lord Feldershey left 
for the war, and the princess’s heart was almost 
broken. 


157 



CHAPTER XIII 

WHICH DESCRIBES SOME HIGH THINKING 
DURING THE SMALL HOURS 

OOD heavens! ma’am, are you ill?” 
said the Baroness D’Albreuse, com- 
ing on to the balcony, where the 
princess remained as though she 
were in a trance. 

u No,” said Margaret, rousing herself. “ I 
am not ill. What have you got? Telegrams?” 

“ Yes, ma’am.” 

“ From the Queen,” said Margaret, taking 
them, “ from the Empress, from Aunt Fred- 
erica, from Aunt Clementina, from the Em- 
peror — all most charming. He is gone, Mop- 
sle ! ” 

“Who, ma’am?” 

“ Boris. No one must know yet. You can 
call up the relatives and special guests, and, after 
158 



SOME HIGH THINKING 


he is well on his way, they can know every- 
thing.” 

“ But what is the matter, ma’am? ” said the 
baroness. “ I don’t understand.” 

“ The hillmen are swarming down into Sigu- 
ria,” said the princess. “ There will be more 
massacres. Isn’t it frightful? What is to be 
done? Suppose he is killed! ” 

“ I will order a novena said for him at once,” 
said Mopsle, “ a special one at that little convent 
at Kuntzberg. I have never known a novena 
at Kuntzberg to fail.” 

The princess clutched her hand, and the two 
trembling creatures made their way to the blue 
drawing-room, where they at once assumed a 
court manner, and the guests crowded round 
the princess, who was charmingly gracious. 

She said, at least one hundred times, with 
precisely the same smile, and precisely the same 
tone and the same inclination of the head: 

“ Thank you so much for your beautiful pres- 
ent; you will see it among the other presents 
in the yellow drawing-room.” 

It was a triumph of deportment. A string 
band played the Preislied from the Meistersin- 
gers, a selection from Don Giovanni, variations 
on Sigurian folk-songs, the Swing Song from 
159 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


Veronique, and a selection from Massenet’s 
Manon.” 

At last Prince Adolf, on behalf of the prin- 
cess, begged the guests to excuse her from play- 
ing any further part in the rejoicings, as Lord 
Feldershey had been unexpectedly summoned to 
Siguria to take command of Her Royal High- 
ness’s troops against the insurrectionists. Great 
was the excitement of all the relatives, the grand 
dukes and the whole company. What did it 
mean? What a wedding! What would hap- 
pen? Was it really a serious business? Per- 
haps Feldershey would be assassinated: he took 
his life in his hands. These, and similar mur- 
murs, passed from mouth to mouth, while even 
the least kind among them were sincerely sorry 
for the desolate bride. She retired to her room, 
where she spent the rest of the day and half the 
night despatching and answering State telegrams 
and letters. Her composure alarmed the Bar- 
oness D’Albreuse and Madame von Rauser, 
both of whom warned her that such self-com- 
mand was unnatural, therefore a strain, there- 
fore a state to be followed by a dreadful reac- 
tion. At three o’clock in the morning, after she 
had finally concluded all business and dismissed 
the sleepy secretaries and the Mistress of the 
160 


SOME HIGH THINKING 


Robes, she exchanged her wedding-gown for a 
loose Chinese wrapper of rose-colored satin em- 
broidered with golden storks. 

“ I am now going to think and wonder why- 
women marry,” she said to Mopsle, whom she 
did not dismiss. 

“At this hour?” said Mopsle, who was 
looking forward to her bed and a dose of 
trional. 

“ This is the best hour possible,” answered 
Margaret, “ because I have never known my 
head to be so clear as it is this morning. Shocks 
either stun one or else wake one. This shock 
to-day has waked me up, I believe, for life.” 

“ It is nothing but brain excitement. You 
need a sedative, ma’am.” 

“ Can’t you see how calm lam?” asked Mar- 
garet; and the baroness was forced to admit 
that Her Royal Highness had a serenity which 
no drug ever discovered could produce. 

“ Sit over there, Mopsle ; make yourself com- 
fortable; put that silk thing over your knees, 
and listen to me. Why do women marry? ” 

“ From mistaken ideas of happiness, ma’am.” 

“ I suppose you have known that all along 
without thinking,” said the princess; “most of 
us get to know it by suffering. Now suppose 
161 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


a woman marries for companionship. Say she 
chooses a brilliant man. Who gets his bril- 
liancy? ” 

“ Other people,” said Mopsle, without a mo- 
ment’s hesitation. “ He is with his wife only 
when he is too tired or too ill to be with any- 
body else.” 

“ Quite true,” said Margaret. “ Say she 
marries for love. Will he understand her? ” 

“ Never,” said Mopsle; “ and the purer and 
the deeper her love, the less he will understand 
her — and I don’t care,” she added ferociously, 
“ how fine a man he may be. You may love 
a man’s children, but you are a fool to love him. 
Be kind to him, but never, never depend upon 
him.” 

“ Where did you learn all this? ” 

“From my married sister,” said Mopsle; 
“ she has seven sons, and she has had two hus- 
bands. It does one good to hear her talk.” 

“ Say one marries a protector — a man of ac- 
tion?” suggested the princess. 

“ When he is not fighting in some way with 
his fellow-men, he wants to kill poor harmless 
birds and animals, or travel about like the Wan- 
dering Jew. Men of action only go home to 
sleep, and as they can sleep anywhere with more 
162 


SOME HIGH THINKING 


or less comfort, it seems great waste to offer 
them a home at all.” 

“ Then, say one marries for the good of one’s 
country?” said the princess, pretending to be 
amused at her own situation. 

“ In that case, ma’am, one is a martyr.” 

“ But a woman cannot stand alone, Mopsle. 
It is all very well to say, ‘ Love children.’ To 
have children, one must marry.” 

“ That, ma’am, is the one safe reason for 
marriage — to have a family, and bring them up 
as Christians. It is all put down plainly enough 
in the Prayer-Books and the Marriage Service.” 

“ But some marriages are childless,” said the 
princess. 

“ That doesn’t affect the intention,” said the 
baroness. “ The shocking thing is to marry 
without the intention, as so many couples nowa- 
days do. No wonder they are all nervous and 
rickety and old before their time ! ” 

“ Ah, there I agree with you,” said the prin- 
cess, “ and haven’t I done everything in my 
power to encourage large families among my 
people? Still, even with a family, one has cer- 
tain ideals as well as duties. What about ro- 
mance and poetry and all that? ” 

“ That is all in poetry and story-books,” said 
163 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


Mopsle; “ it isn’t in husbands — unless they hap- 
pen to write poetry themselves. Even then, I 
have heard it all goes into the poetry — they live 
as other men live when they are not writing.” 

“ It is disheartening ! ” exclaimed Margaret. 

“ I, ma’am, was warned in time,” said the 
baroness; “but for your Royal Highness it is 
too late.” 

“ I don’t wish you to think me unhappy,” said 
Margaret; “ I am worried, but I regret nothing. 
Men, after all, were not born to be compan- 
ions to women; the men who have charming, 
thoughtful ways are either effeminate or more 
fastidious than nine women out of ten. Such 
men make better friends and lovers than hus- 
bands; as husbands, I have often heard, they 
are moody and uncertain — if not actually inva- 
lidish. One cannot have everything, Mopsle ! ” 

“ True,” replied Mopsle. “ I remember my 
sister saying that she fell in love with her first 
husband when he was dangerously ill, and he 
was never again so fascinating. She found it 
impossible to love him in health as well as she 
did in sickness, but she was too sensible to fret 
over it. As she said, when a man is at death’s 
door, he is, to all intents and purposes, a spirit, 
and the poor creature is not to be blamed, when 
164 


SOME HIGH THINKING 


he recovers, and becomes, to all intents and pur- 
poses, a brute ! ” 

“ According to you and your sister, Mopsle,” 
said the princess, “ women are all angels and 
men are a kind of hog ! That doesn’t seem fair 
or true. Many women are every bit as detest- 
ably selfish as men.” 

“ Such women get on well with them, and 
suit them,” replied Mopsle; “you have too 
much feeling, too much imagination, and you 
are far too sensitive to be happy, for long, with 
any man.” 

“ You make me out a fool, Mopsle. I could 
be as robust, if I chose, as Sophia and Amelia 
in Fielding’s novels. Whenever they were puz- 
zled, or at a loss for the right word, they 
fainted. I wish I could have fainted to-day 
when Boris left. It would have been so much 
pleasanter for both of us. I must try to revive 
some of these old customs.” 

“ Then, ma’am,” said Mopsle, “ you would 
have to revive Tom Jones and William Booth. 
No one could say that Lord Feldershey bears 
the least likeness to either of them except in his 
quick temper.” 

“ He is better educated than they were,” said 
Margaret, “ and he has an artist’s temperament, 
12 1 65 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


which they had not; otherwise I should say there 
was not much to choose between the three on 
matters of life and death ! ” 

She did not tell Mopsle then how mortally 
she had been hurt during her last interview with 
Feldershey, but she knew herself that he had 
killed something in her affection for him which 
could never come to life again, never be the 
same. Perhaps it had been the unreasonable 
belief that he was utterly unlike every other man 
that was ever born. His suspicions, moreover, 
had seemed to her monstrous and beyond a 
joke. She wished the baroness good night, saw 
her out, and then, by herself, cried bitterly. She 
was the most miserable woman on earth. 

“How could you? how could you?” she 
asked the absent Feldershey between her sobs. 

Feldershey, in the wagon-lit on his way to 
Vienna, was sleeping abominably. But it never 
occurred to him that he had behaved otherwise 
than well, and with a sense of what was due to 
himself. That anything was due to Margaret 
did not come into his mind. He thought her 
impossible, and he could not find a single excuse 
for her conduct. But of one thing he was cer- 
tain — he would not be twisted round her finger. 



CHAPTER XIV 

WHICH CONTRASTS ENTHUSIASM WITH THE 
WANT OF IT 

OUNT RIXENSART lost no time 
in informing his few most intimate 
friends that he knew the reasons 
why he had not been ordered to 
accompany Lord Feldershey on his expedition 
against the insurrectionists. All the officers on 
the Staff were mortally jealous of him — Count 
Rixensart. They would sooner see the country 
ruined than allow him (Count Rixensart) to 
save it. As for their attitude toward Lord Fel- 
dershey, it was a plain case of taking the devil 
they didn’t know instead of the devil they knew. 
But they had no choice in the matter. Count 
Rixensart did not like to say all he feared, yet 
he ventured to believe that the aforesaid Staff 
would hinder, and hamper, and cripple, and 
exasperate,, and misrepresent, and disobey — 
167 




THE FLUTE OF PAN 


in a word, “ do ” for his lordship at every 
turn. 

“ I am really sorry for him,” said Count Rix- 
ensart. 

To Bertha, he said little about professional 
envies; on the contrary, he blamed her entirely 
for the gross slight which he considered he had 
received from the war council of Siguria. 

“ Your extravagance, your levity, and the- 
number-of-times-a-day-you-change-your-clothes ” 
(the original expression in German is a word 
of interminable length ending in lich) “ are my 
destruction ! ” 

Prince Adolf seized the unsettled moment in 
Sigurian affairs for an opportunity to pay a long- 
promised visit to the emperor, his cousin. 

Margaret shut herself up with Lady Felder- 
shey at Santa Fiore. For the fortnight during 
which the rebellion raged, she never crossed the 
threshold of her private apartments, and she 
was engrossed in affairs of State for fifteen 
hours or more out of the twenty-four each day. 
Europe at large was not greatly concerned in 
the campaign, but, on account of Lord Felder- 
shey’s English extraction, thie English press sent 
war-correspondents to the scene of action; and 
it was the lot of the unhappy lady to read daily 
168 


WHICH CONTRASTS ENTHUSIASM 


the most sickening descriptions — which Felder- 
shey himself spared her — of massacres and 
bloodshed, of ill-used wounded, mothers and 
wives driven mad, and children murdered. At 
the end of the fortnight, when peace was re- 
stored, the suite expressed themselves greatly 
shocked at the alteration in the princess’s ap- 
pearance, and her physicians deplored the fact 
that she took things far too seriously. She re- 
turned to Siguria for the proclamation of peace, 
and arrived there one day before Feldershey, 
whom she met, after a triumphal procession 
through the decorated streets, at the railway 
station. The people cheered, the bands played, 
many of the soldiers along the line of route 
dropped with sunstroke or fatigue, and were 
immediately replaced by others; a number of 
loyal citizens were injured for life in the struggle 
to see their beloved monarch in one more new 
gown and a lovely hat, drawn in a state car- 
riage by the famous thoroughbred ponies. But 
the utmost amiability prevailed ; garlands of ar- 
tificial roses entwined with the national colors 
were hanging from every window, and stretched 
from temporarily erected gilt poles on each side 
of the road; the whole city and all its inhabitants 
were in gala attire; the clapping and cheering 
169 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


never ceased, and it was declared that the trade 
prospects were excellent. 

The princess was almost fainting with joy to 
think that Feldershey was safe, that he had come 
back; and when the train steamed into the sta- 
tion, and the guns were fired, and the royal pair 
embraced each other on the platform, under a 
triumphal arch of laurel, myrtle, orange-blos- 
soms, and waving banners, the Baroness D’Al- 
breuse and the populace were deeply touched. 
There must have been, at the lowest estimate, 
eighteen hundred kodaks taken of the group. 
But it was an official embrace, although the 
public did not know this. After the procession, 
when the two reached home, and the multitude 
thought that they were talking happily together, 
his lordship was all ice and granite, without a 
word, without a look, of affection. They sat 
with a writing-table between them in her bou- 
doir, and he said: 

“ My men had very bad food and shameful 
boots. I intend to make the devil’s own row 
now the thing is over! ” 

To which she replied: 

“ Don’t speak so loud, or the people under 
the window will hear ! ” 

That is the real history of the meeting, which 
170 


WHICH CONTRASTS ENTHUSIASM 


was certainly wholly different from the charm- 
ing description of it which appeared in the Court 
Gazette, and a bitter disappointment in com- 
parison with the scene which Her Royal High- 
ness had imagined might conceivably take place. 
To add to the princess’s trial of patience, she 
knew that she was looking her worst. Over- 
work, sleepless nights, no exercise, and an in- 
cessant anxiety, had so affected her health, that 
it would have been flattery to say that she had 
the appearance of a person just recovering from 
a severe illness. She had lost her color; she 
had become too slight; and the beaute de diable, 
of which she had once been accused, had given 
place to a kind of aloofness and proud melan- 
choly. Feldershey, who was struck by these 
great outward changes, attributed them at once 
and absolutely to her disastrous passion for 
Baverstock. As she was a woman, he did not 
believe that she had given much thought to the 
war or realized its grimness; he remembered 
instead Byron’s lines, which, ever since they were 
written, have soothed men’s vanity and made 
mischief between the enamored : 


“Man’s love is of man’s life a thing apart, 
’Tis woman’s whole existence.” 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


He chose to think that Margaret’s whole exist- 
ence was absorbed in pining for Harry Baver- 
stock. Now she was not one to pine for any- 
body — not even Feldershey himself — so he was 
doubly wrong in his view of the situation. But 
he had wounded her to the soul, and the pain 
never ceased. She had been harassed in every 
possible way by unfaithful ministers, the in- 
trigues among the members of her council, the 
state of the country, the condition of the poorer 
classes, the expenses of the war, and the horrors 
of the rebellion. So severe and pressing were 
all these worries, that it had become almost a 
selfish, if mocking, luxury to her to indulge in 
her personal fears for Feldershey’s safety. In 
fact, the distress she had suffered on his account 
had been, for the greater part of the time, sub- 
conscious and suppressed, whereas the distress 
she had felt for her country had been undis- 
guised and incessantly exercised every hour of 
the day and night — as much in her dreams as in 
her thoughts. Moreover, she had been obliged 
to play, in letters and interviews, as many dif- 
ferent characters as there were politicians, 
diplomatists, and scoundrels to be dealt with. 
If Feldershey, with battalions, was fighting 
armed fanatics in the hills, she, at Santa Fiore, 
172 


WHICH CONTRASTS ENTHUSIASM 


had been alone, matching her wits against the 
shrewdest liars, backed by the strongest powers 
of Europe. The life of an hereditary princess 
with a rich little country in a fine situation is as 
hard a life as any woman could lead at the 
present day, and one would have to be a Be- 
gum in order to understand a tenth part of 
its dangers. This being the case, it did not 
affect her courage, although it destroyed her life, 
to find Feldershey incomprehensibly and even 
viciously quarrelsome. She did not know that 
he was the victim of a fixed idea, and almost out 
of his mind with jealousy; that every word she 
uttered and every line she wrote to him was 
twisted into evidence against her; that he stood, 
as it were, with his back to the wall, resolved 
to maintain his dignity at every cost. When, 
therefore, he studied his wife’s pale face, he 
showed no sympathy, and he felt none. 

“ The crowds were most enthusiastic,” said 
Margaret coldly. “ You could not have wished 
for a better reception.” 

“ They would have been just as pleased,” 
said Feldershey, “ if I had been a monkey dan- 
cing on a drum to a hand-organ. But don’t talk ; 
you must rest — you look as though you had a 
headache.” 


173 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ I worried a great deal while you were away. 
The hardest battle is always for those who re- 
main behind.” 

“ People say so, but it isn’t true,” said 
Feldershey. “ War is a disagreeable thing 
for everybody.” 

“ And in order to make peace, you have to 
kill ten thousand half-crazy peasants ! ” 

“ The half-crazy peasants have helped to pay 
for your palace.” 

“ Somebody has to rule over them — some- 
body has to lead them — somebody must love 
them.” 

“ No doubt; but they could be led for less, 
and it costs nothing at all to love them; it is 
the killing them that is so expensive ! ” 

“ I can feel that as well as you, and I want 
to prevent wars if I can — and yet — you don’t 
believe in me, do you ? ” 

“ I have always told you,” said Felder- 
shey, “ that I cannot pretend to understand 
women.” 

She sighed, and dismissed his humor as hope- 
less. 

“ There is another ceremony next week,” she 
said presently, “ which you will dislike far more 
than the procession to-day.” 

174 


WHICH CONTRASTS ENTHUSIASM 


“What is that?” said Feldershey. 

She threw her head back a little and tightened 
her lips: 

“ My abdication. There are a great many 
things to arrange. You see, we have never 
had an abdication before; we have no prece- 
dent.” 

“ In any case,” said Feldershey, “ you may be 
certain that you are setting a fashion which will 
not be followed. It could never be common 
for a princess to abdicate ! ” 

“ The Emperor calls me a madwoman ! ” 

“ It is the Emperor’s great distinction to ex- 
press invariably the opinion of the mob ! ” 

“ You may be surprised to hear that, apart 
from my promise, I want to go back with you 
to the studio,” said Margaret quietly. 

Feldershey burst out laughing. 

“ I know you’ll feel the wrench, that you are 
really loath to say good-by to it all, although 
you are such an actress.” 

“ You always say that when you don’t want 
to believe me.” 

“ Oh, well,” said Feldershey, embarrassed, 
“ you ’ don’t realize yet what an abdication 
means. If you cling to all this, keep it. I can 
go to the studio by myself.” 

175 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ Without me? ” said Margaret, as much as- 
tonished as hurt. 

“ You will be out of place there.” 

“ You didn’t say that when we made our first 
bargain — do you remember, in the studio? It 
seemed so natural then,” she added, half smiling 
and half in tears. “ What was it? We were 
to live on ten shillings a week.” 

“ We made a mistake, marrying without 
love,” he said impatiently. 

“ I wonder if we did! ” 

“ There is not even confidence between us.” 

“ Confidence! ” she exclaimed. 

“You will not be frank with me; you will 
not tell me the truth.” 

“The truth!” 

“ Oh, I saw the difficulties of your position, 
and I was much flattered up to a certain point 
to know that you thought I could help you.” 

“ You have helped me.” 

“ Then tell me what you want me to do.” 

“ I don’t want you to do anything — but I 
want to keep my promise.” 

“ Another sacrifice ! ” said Feldershey bit- 
terly. 

“ It is no sacrifice.” 

“ No sacrifice? ” 


176 


WHICH CONTRASTS ENTHUSIASM 


44 Not at all — never think so.” 

44 Then I need not reproach myself for this 
step?” 

44 No.” 

44 It is, in fact, your whim to abdicate?” 

44 Yes, my whim.” 

44 Suppose you get bored? ” 

44 Can I be more bored than I am?” she 
asked, shrugging her shoulders. 

44 Whose fault is that? ” 

“ Oh, my own, of course. You never really 
liked me — did you? Or, at least, if you did, 
it was in spite of yourself.” 

44 Yes, it is in spite of myself! ” he exclaimed, 
jumping up and seizing her hands, 44 and I don’t 
know how much longer this can go on. Some 
devil has entered into me, and I hate my- 
self, but I can’t help it. If you would only 


Margaret drew away. 

“There is one thing,” she said; “we have 
never pretended to be in love with each other.” 

Before he could recover from the surprise oc- 
casioned in him by this remark, she had swept 
out of the room, and he was left standing in the 
middle of the floor, saying — with the inconsist- 
ency peculiar to himself: 

177 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ Why in the world do you suppose I married 
you? I do love you; why should I pretend to 
love you? ” 

But she never heard this. 



178 



CHAPTER XV 

IN WHICH SMALL FRY DISCUSS HIGH MATTERS 

HE news of the princess’s proposed 
abdication was received at first with 
utter incredulity, and as the an- 
nouncement of her intention was of- 
ficially made the day after the proclamation of 
peace, no reason could be found for such an 
act. The president of the council, who, it was 
said, would convert the monarchy of Siguria 
into a republic, had a sufficiently strong faction 
on his side, and at headquarters — that is to say, 
in the palace and the senate-houses — the prin- 
cess’s retirement was regarded as a clever polit- 
ical maneuver or dodge. People are always 
glad of a change, and even those whose business 
it is to quarrel with every measure that is sug- 
gested are, of course, delighted when an oppor- 
tunity is presented for the demonstration of their 
vigor. 

On the morning that the abdication news 
179 




THE FLUTE OF PAN 


was in free circulation throughout Europe, 
Count Rixensart, Captain Bernstein, and Count 
Marche were sitting in an anteroom of the 
palace discussing the situation. As it was a 
hot day, Captain Bernstein had provided him- 
self with a glass of sherbet, which he was sip- 
ping through two straws, while Count Marche 
was scribbling in a note-book suggestions, as 
they occurred to him, for the arrangement of 
the guests at the abdication ceremony. Rixen- 
sart, with his back to both of them, stood staring 
gloomily out into the courtyard of the palace, 
where the princess’s guards were going through 
their drill to the admiration of a crowd of 
nurses, children, and tourists, who assembled 
every morning outside the gates to hear the 
military band and watch the soldiers. 

“ How can you take it all so calmly? ” said 
Bernstein. “We have just recovered from the 
killing celebrations after the peace. I’m worn 
to the bone ! ” 

“ It is all one to me whether it is a wedding, 
a coronation, a christening, a jubilee, or an abdi- 
cation,” said Marche. “ Get the guests prop- 
erly seated, and the trick is done.” 

“ But an abdication is much more serious than 
any christening,” said Bernstein. “ It is so un- 
180 


SMALL FRY DISCUSS MATTERS 


common. It makes one feel like the ‘ Decline 
and Fall of the Roman Empire ! ’ ” 

“ Oh, the Show will go on just the same,” 
said Marche wearily; “ the Show always does.” 

Bernstein added, from a silver bottle on a 
silver tray by his side, some peach sirup to his 
sherbet. 

“ I wish Feldershey were not so set upon re- 
nouncing the world. Now he has stopped the 
revolution, he might as well see things through.” 

“ What can you do with a man who has 
ideas? ” said Rixensart, wheeling round. “ Feld- 
ershey had a position, and he has won popu- 
larity; but he prefers his art life to both, and 
poverty to anything ! ” 

“ These men who have everything never 
know when they are well off,” grumbled Bern- 
stein. “ But I’m damned if I can understand 
H.R.H. Why, why is she abdicating? If it is 
an excuse for a party, it is a damned silly joke.” 

“ Oh, it isn’t a joke,” said the Master of the 
Horse. 

Bernstein, inspired perhaps by the combined 
excellence of the sirup and the sherbet, ob- 
served, with an air of solemnity: 

“ Then there must be something behind this 
abdication business.” 

13 1 8 1 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


Rixensart looked him up and down, and won- 
dered what he — Count Rixensart — had done to 
be obliged to consort with such inferior intel- 
lects. 

“ We all know there is something behind it,” 
said he. “ That is the general opinion.” 

At this point the door was thrown open, and 
one of Prince Adolf’s equerries announced the 
approach of His Royal Highness. He entered 
in great agitation, holding in his hand all the 
morning papers, including the vilest socialistic 
rags. 

“ Where is Her Royal Highness? ” he asked. 

“ Her Royal Highness is in the boudoir, sir,” 
said Bernstein. 

“ Is Lord Feldershey with her? ” said Adolf, 
turning to Marche. 

“ His Highness is in his room, sir.” 

“His Highness!” said Adolf. “So I un- 
derstand he has been called His Highness since 
the peace — but quite correct. The Russian 
Grand-Duke Boris was his great-grandfather. 
Blood royal absolutely — never forget that.” 
He caught hold of Count Rixensart’s arm and 
drew him into a corner. “ Is Margaret going 
mad?” he asked. “ I wish I had not stayed 
so long with the Emperor. I must get the hang 
182 


SMALL FRY DISCUSS MATTERS 


of affairs. You should hear the Emperor on 
the subject of Margaret’s marriage. His com- 
ments were mordant! And as for this abdica- 
tion — I seem to be in a nightmare ! ” 

“ I thought you wanted the marriage, sir,” 
said Rixensart dryly. 

“ Yes, because I thought if Margaret were 
engrossed in domestic affairs she would leave 

politics to — to ” 

“ To the right people? ” 

“ Exactly. I would have let her open bazaars, 
lay foundation-stones — that sort of thing — very 
interesting, and women do it so well. I thought 
I was safe with Boris, a man who cares nothing 
about power. Give him a bit of canvas and 
some paints, and he will sit quietly for hours! 
I thought he wanted Art and the Home Beau- 
tiful, but I find that he has the fighting in- 
stincts of a Turk and a passion for domineer- 
ing.” 

“ He did some pretty sharp fighting during 
the rebellion,” said Rixensart. “ It happened 
to be in a comparatively quiet corner of Europe, 
but he did a big thing! ” 

“ So they all say,” said Adolf thoughtfully. 

“ A very big thing. That man, if he chose, 
could be another Bismarck! ” 

183 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“God forbid!” said Adolf piously. “Is 
Lord Feldershey popular with the mob?” he 
asked Marche. 

“ They are wild about him, sir.” 

“ They can’t print his photographs fast 
enough for the demand, sir,” said Rixensart. 

“ If he shows himself, they cheer themselves 
hoarse,” continued Marche. 

“ A popular idol, in fact,” said Adolf. 

“ He treated his men so well, sir — they don’t 
forget kindness,” observed Bernstein. 

Prince Adolf stroked his chin, patted the 
breast of his uniform, and took Count Rixen- 
sart into another corner. 

“ Everything has turned out contrary to my 
expectations. If Margaret carries this absurd 
business through, I shall be the ex-grand cham- 
berlain of an ex-ruling princess. Insufferable 
humiliation! We must find some means of pre- 
venting this frenetic, this insane step. They 
are driving me to use my wits, Rixensart. Some 
of you have doubted that I have any.” 

“ I never doubted them, sir,” said Rixen- 
sart. 

“ No, I don’t believe you ever did, and I will 
remember you. The Emperor himself wrote 
to me this morning. He only writes to a rising 
184 


SMALL FRY DISCUSS MATTERS 


market! Perhaps my star is in the ascendant. 
I’ll not forget you, Rixensart.” 

A meaning glance passed between the pair. 
Prince Adolf jerked his head in the direction 
of his own private apartment. Rixensart mur- 
mured something loud enough for Marche and 
Bernstein to hear, to the effect that the bay geld- 
ings would perhaps answer His Royal High- 
ness’s purpose, and he followed the prince out 
of the room. 

“ They are hand and glove together again, 
ain’t they?” said the ingenuous Bernstein. 
“ But I do wish things were more settled. I 
want to know the future and make my plans.” 

“ So do I,” said Marche. 

“ Oh, it is all very well for you,” said Bern- 
stein; “ you are a permanent official. It is very 
different for me. Katerina won’t like it if I 
have to postpone our marriage again.” 

“ You are all for self,” said Marche. “ I 
never knew anything like it.” 

“ I can’t see,” said Bernstein, unmoved, 
“ why H.R.H. can’t postpone her abdication 
till the autumn. I shouldn’t mind that at all. 
To have it now is what I call inconsiderate.” 

“ These people,” said Marche confidentially, 
“ never consider anybody except themselves. I 

185 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


don’t mind telling you that I had arranged to 
go to Paris myself at the end of the month.” 

“ I can’t think,” said Bernstein, “ why men 
are such fools as to hang about a court.” 

Neither of them would have left the court for 
any earthly consideration, or for the sake of any 
woman who had ever been born. 



1 86 



CHAPTER XVI 



WHICH DESCRIBES THE EFFECTS OF A MOOD 
ON FURNITURE AND STATESMANSHIP 

[HEN Adolf had finished his long pri- 
vate conversation with Count Rixen- 
sart, which had ended in the two 
gentlemen separating, each in the 
belief that the other was dangerous and ought 
to be watched, the prince begged an audience 
with the Princess Margaret. Her Royal High- 
ness had taken to her bed, and was suffering 
from a nervous headache after the exhaustion 
of trying on her robes for the abdication cere- 
mony, but she sent word that she would receive 
her stepfather at once. The state bedroom, 
which had been especially decorated for the sec- 
ond marriage of the princess’s mother, had not 
been altered. The hangings were of pale-blue 
silk, and the furniture was purely Louis Qua- 
torze — the one monarch, in Prince Adolf’s opin- 
ion, worthy of the name. There were some 

187 



THE FLUTE OF PAN 


lovely Lancrets and a Boucher set in the walls; 
the chandeliers were exquisite; the prie-dieu 
alone was worth at least four thousand pounds, 
and the old missal which adorned it had been 
illuminated by Fra Angelico himself. The li- 
brary at Venice has no finer treasure of the kind. 
The beautiful china shepherdesses and naked 
nymphs on the mantelpiece, and the dressing- 
table, with its gold brushes, hand-mirrors, scent- 
bottles, and powder-boxes (all left just as they 
had been used during the late princess’s life- 
time), brought tears to the widower’s eyes as 
he surveyed them. They were familiar enough 
as objects, but at certain moments the most 
familiar things will stir the deepest feelings. 
Prince Adolf had never been accused of emo- 
tionalism, and he was no sentimentalist. Still, 
he was human; the contrast between his former 
triumphs as the ruler of the Regent with his 
present position as the negligible quantity was 
almost more than he could bear. 

“ Oh for one day,” he thought, “ of my dear- 
est Eulalia! What a woman! what a heart! ” 
He sank on the rose-colored sofa padded with 
down, and several minutes elapsed before he 
could recover his self-control or proceed on his 
way. 


1 88 


FURNITURE AND STATESMANSHIP 


For the Princess Margaret did not use that 
room; the one she preferred was farther down 
the corridor. The corridor itself was filled with 
Chinese vases, hangings, and curios which had 
been brought from the East at the time of the 
Doges. There were also a number of small 
tabourets on the floor which had been used by 
the noblest aristocratic ladies of Siguria at the 
courts of Louis XIV, Louis XV, and Louis 
XVI. The princess’s own apartment had a 
stone pavement, and orange-wood bedstead with 
a violet silk counterpane, painted walls, and a 
hanging brass lamp of austere pattern. 

“ Mere affectation ! ” thought the prince, and 
to a certain extent he was not wrong. The sim- 
plicity of the room was the result of a mood 
which had lasted, at least, a month. 

“ My dear Margaret,” said the prince, “ why 
have you moved here? ” 

“ It is quiet,” said Margaret. 

“ Quiet! Is it a time for quiet? ” he asked, 
taking the one chair, which had a fine design 
but no cushions. “ I must protest once more 
against your action,” he went on, motioning the 
Baroness D’Albreuse (who had ushered him in) 
to retire into the corridor. “ Where do I come 
in on this abdication business? Nowhere! I 
189 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


shall be a cipher. I repeat, where do I come 
in? I repeat, nowhere! To be the ex-grand 
chamberlain of an ex-ruling princess is a gro- 
tesque position, and I will not be grotesque.” 

“ That rests with you, papa,” said Margaret, 
half smiling. 

Prince Adolf, finding the chair comfortless, 
preferred to pace the floor. 

“ Feldershey is a brute,” he continued. “ You 
hurt his vanity when you refused him five years 
ago. This is his revenge — he is showing Eu- 
rope that he is your master; he has persuaded 
you to abdicate.” 

Margaret sat up in bed, brushed back her 
hair, which had fallen over her forehead, and 
stared solemnly at her stepfather. 

“ I made the promise long before our mar- 
riage. He always wished me to go back with 
him to the studio.” 

“ Comic opera ! ” said Adolf indignantly. 
“ You and I have our places in this country, 
and if you are too infatuated with that man 
to keep your place, I will, at any rate, keep 
mine.” 

“ But who is interfering with you? ” 

“ I am so resolved to keep my post, such as 
it is,” he went on, with a nervous tremor in 
190 


FURNITURE AND STATESMANSHIP 


his voice, “ that I will keep it, even if I have to 
eat my own heart out in the struggle.’’ 

“ What can you do? ” asked Margaret. 

“ I am no longer very young — I was never 
a man for war — so long as compromises were 
possible; I do not declare war, then, Margaret 
— I declare diplomacy ! ” 

“ And I declare neither war, nor diplomacy, 
nor anger, nor hate. My policy is a policy of 
love — it has never been anything else. I have 
been right so far. Boris led my men superbly. 
They would die for him.” 

“Yes,” said Adolf dryly, “he is a very fine 
specimen of the mounted police.” 

He hoped she would wince, but she did not. 

“ I hear,” he continued, “ that the Privy 
Council have decided to double the Government 
grant which they have already voted to Felder- 
shey for his services.” 

Margaret flushed with pleasure: 

“ That is very generous of them. But why 
was I not told this before ? ” 

“ I undertook to bring the message to you,” 
said Prince Adolf stiffly. 

“ I know he will not accept the grant,” said 
Margaret. “ On second thoughts, it would be 
very disagreeable and hard for me to offer it.” 

191 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ If you urge him with tact,” said Adolf cyn- 
ically, “ I think he will see his way to accept- 
ing it.” 

Margaret looked gently into his lined and 
withered countenance. 

“ You see,” she said, after a pause, “ you 
never did understand him.” 

“ If I ever betted with ladies, I would bet 
fifty to one on his taking the — I forget the ex- 
act figures, but I know it is something near two 
hundred thousand thalers. Their enthusiasm is 
evidently genuine ! ” 

“ He won’t touch it,” repeated Margaret. 

“ You are not well enough to judge of the 
situation,” said Prince Adolf. “ All this is a 
mere crise des nerfs; but the difference between 
you and your poor mother is this, that when she 
had a crise des nerfs — she never mistook it for 
anything else, but you work it into some fan- 
tastic conviction, which, if it affected yourself 
only, would still be sufficiently harmful; unhap- 
pily, it affects everybody, and you turn the coun- 
try upside down by your caprices.” 

Margaret, to his astonishment, agreed that 
there was much truth in his observations, but 
inasmuch as she was sick and tired of the court 
and the Privy Council and the whole tracas y she 
192 


FURNITURE AND STATESMANSHIP 


would not remain a week longer than was nec- 
essary in her unendurable position. 

“ Delirium! ” murmured Prince Adolf. 

“ No,” said Margaret, “ it is not delirium. 
I must tell you once more that I made an agree- 
ment with Feldershey ” 

“ Oh, it is Feldershey now,” interrupted the 
prince. 

Margaret, who had borne his other remarks 
with extraordinary good nature, now lost her 
temper. 

“ I shall call him what I please,” she said 
coldly. “ And, after all, why should I justify my 
actions to you, or, for that matter, to any one ? ” 

“ Do you wish me to carry this message to 
the Emperor? ” asked Prince Adolf. 

“ I have already written to him to that ef- 
fect.” 

Prince Adolf glanced over his shoulder in the 
direction of the Baroness D’Albreuse, and his 
expression conveyed a belief that the other side 
of Margaret’s charm was stark, sheer madness. 
The baroness could not see him, but as he left 
the apartment — and he considered it wiser to 
do so — he caught her eyes and repeated his 
glance with added intensity. She wrung her 
hands. 


193 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


Margaret, on finding herself alone, immedi- 
ately sprang out of bed and locked the door. 
She had been under close observation ever since 
her marriage; she had been constantly occupied 
with public affairs; she now determined to deal 
with her own private thoughts on the subject of 
Feldershey’s temper. But, while she had at last 
secured a little solitude, she had no desire to 
muse; her thoughts melted into tears, and she 
could not think. A subtle, highly trained 
woman in her official character, she was simple 
in her emotions. She cried because she was 
unhappy, and she was unhappy because she had 
been unkindly treated. Whether Feldershey 
had ever really loved her, or whether he loved 
her no longer, or whether he still loved her, 
were questions which troubled her less than the 
actual cruelty of his attitude. When she was 
not too bruised in her heart to listen to her 
soul, she believed that he loved her. But at 
that particular hour he seemed the supremely 
bitter disappointment of her life. 

And if she had been able to analyze and 
weigh and define her feelings, she would have 
known no more than that — the man had be- 
haved in an atrocious manner, without consid- 
eration for her feelings as a woman, and appar- 
194 


FURNITURE AND STATESMANSHIP 


ently without the smallest sense of the common 
courtesies of life. Rudeness on such a scale 
could not be called ungentlemanly — one cannot 
apply flimsy adverbs to primitive virtues and 
vices; Feldershey’s rudeness was barbarous, and 
it sprang from a nature which had never been 
civilized. She wondered how she could make 
him realize his savage state — for she was too 
intelligent to believe that he had any serious 
fear that he was ever at fault. That he meant 
to be disagreeable; that he meant many of the 
ill-natured things he said; that he wished to give 
pain by his questions and remarks, was certain; 
he was not a fool, and his insults were often 
deliberate. Had Margaret been guilty, or had 
she known of his suspicions, she could have 
found some explanation, at any rate, of his con- 
duct. But as she was innocent, and as she had 
no means of following his imagination or the 
strange chain of evidence in her disfavor, she 
was altogether bewildered. Wisely, therefore, 
she made no attempt to invent arguments for or 
against the offender, and she concentrated her 
attention on her own course of action. 

“ If he is uncertain and odious,” she thought, 
“ that is the greater reason why I should keep 
my word and prove my sincerity. If I fall into 
195 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


a rage, and become spiteful, and pretend to be 
as callous as he is, he will have injured me very 
much. No; I shall go on as I began. And as 
for sentimentality, false or real, I have lived so 
far without it, and I don’t see why I should not 
continue to do so.” 

Whereupon she fell into a dreamless sleep. 



196 




CHAPTER XVII 

WHICH DESCRIBES AN EXHIBITION OF PROPER 
PRIDE 

HE next days passed sadly enough. 
Feldershey and Margaret seemed 
on admirable terms in public, but 
no one believed that they cared 
much for each other, or that the marriage was 
more than a polite success. 

On the day of the abdication, the princess, 
accompanied by Mopsle, went to take a last look 
before the ceremony at the throne-room. 

“ I have always been so fond of that view,” 
said Margaret, looking out of the window. “ I 
have watched it through tears many times, and 

now I am going, I want to stay ” 

“Then why not stay?” said the baroness, 
determined to speak her mind. 

“ How can I stay, when I promised Boris on 
the day we agreed to marry that I would go 
14 197 




THE FLUTE OF PAN 


back with him to the studio? Everything he 
has done depended on that.” 

“ But it is not too late. You can change 
your mind.” 

“ I might change my mind — I cannot break 
my word.” 

“ But why not? It is only breaking your 
word to a man.” 

“ How am I to get through this? ” said Mar- 
garet, catching hold of the baroness’s arm. 
“ Why should I make such a sacrifice for any 
man? And he doesn’t seem to know what a 
sacrifice it is ! This life bores him, and it ought 
to bore me, but I like it — and I like these; I 
am afraid I love them.” She uncovered her 
neck, which was covered with the finest of the 
crown jewels. “ I daresay it is foolish to love 
them; but they are beautiful, and they do make 
a difference. I can’t pretend that I look better 
without them. I don’t ! I can’t say that I feel 
better without them. I don’t! ” 

“And yet you are giving them up?” 

“ Perhaps Boris,” said Margaret medita- 
tively, “ felt all this when he left his studio for 
me. 

“ No man ever feels what a woman feels.” 

“Perhaps not; but whenever Boris is angry 
198 


AN EXHIBITION OF PROPER PRIDE 


I can imagine what he would be if he wished 
to be — pleasant. I think he could be extraor- 
dinarily pleasant ! ” 

“ The pleasantest man in the world would 
not be worth your kingdom, your wealth, your 
power, this great position.” 

“ What is it worth to me if he won’t share 
it?” said Margaret, stamping her foot, “if I 
am always alone? The solitude I feel in this 
court is the saddest, the most desolate of all 
solitudes. You never see things, Mopsle — you 
never understand.” 

“ I have only one prayer.” 

“What is that?” 

“ That your husband may never know how 
much you love him! ” 

“ Ah! that is my prayer too. I believe you 
do understand, after all.” 

“Too well! ” said the baroness, drying her 
eyes. “ Why can’t you love somebody that 
doesn’t matter — who does as he is told, and 
doesn’t make these outrageous demands? ” 

“ Perhaps when I get there alone with him 
in Venice, it will be different. The life in this 
court exasperates him; he renounced it all long 
ago. It is right that the woman should share 
the man’s life — whatever it may be.” 

199 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ It may be right, but it is highly incon- 
venient.” 

“ Oh, I can give up the position and the 
jewels; that isn’t too hard. The hard thing 
is to give them up for a man who doesn’t love 
me. You know he doesn’t.” 

She said this without conviction, although she 
watched the baroness’s face. 

“ Thank God,” said Mopsle proudly, “ I 
know nothing about men! To me, every man 
is a raging lion seeking whom he may devour.” 

“ Well, you know me. You know how I 
suffered during the rebellion? ” 

“ Did I close my eyes for fifteen nights ? Did 
I not read to you, and play the pianola for you, 
and invent love-stories with happy endings till 
I began to feel that I was a liar even in my 
sleep ! Ah ! ” she exclaimed, changing her tone 
to one of supplication, “ what do you suppose 
will happen when you get to Venice? You will 
be alone with him and quite at his mercy.” 

“ Perhaps he will change, Mopsle. He mast 
change when he sees that I have left everything 
for his sake.” 

“ Ah ! you have still the idea that he loves 
you. You would never risk so much on an un- 
certainty? ” 


200 


AN EXHIBITION OF PROPER PRIDE 


Margaret knelt down by Mopsle’s side, and 
said: 

“ I will tell you a secret. At the time of the 
public embrace at the railway station, his kiss 
on each of my cheeks was official, but I can 
still feel the way he held my hand! Nothing 
merely official could have made such an im- 
pression ! And, another day, after he had been 
quite horrible to me, saying, ‘ Pray consider 
yourself in every way. Don't on any account 
alter your plans for me. I am very busy myself. 
I will not take up your time * — after that, I saw 
he was sorry. He wouldn’t say so, but he was 
wretched — he went out and rode for miles. 
Marche says he rode like a madman.” 

The baroness had but one comment to make : 

“ Yet you will sacrifice your life to this in- 
furiated monster! ” 

At this moment Lord Feldershey himself 
entered, accompanied by two aides-de-camp. 
He grew pale when he saw Margaret, and he 
ordered the aides to leave him. 

“ You are now on your way to the Military 
Board?” said Margaret nervously. 

“ Yes,” said Feldershey, wishing he did not 
admire her, and hoping that he had conquered 
his love for her. He knew, however, that he 


201 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


had not conquered it; it was stronger than 
ever. 

“ I have been asked to tell you,” she went 
on, “ that the Privy Council have voted you a 
grant of fifty thousand pounds as a mark of 
their gratitude for restoring peace.” 

“ I am deeply sensible of the generosity of the 
Privy Council,” said Feldershey, “ but it is im- 
possible for me to accept the gift.” 

“ But — ” began Margaret. 

“ Please do not press the point,” he said 
sternly. “ You put me to the greatest pain, 
but you cannot alter my determination in the 
matter.” 

“ I have no wish to press any point upon 
you,” said Margaret, “ and your answer shall 
be conveyed to the Privy Council. But I myself 
ask you to accept the old key to the city. It 
is the ancient custom to give it to the kings 
of Siguria when they are crowned; it has never 
yet been given to any conqueror. It is a sym- 
bolic thing,” she added awkwardly. “ But as 
the nation will become a republic after my ab- 
dication, I wish the last honor I can bestow, as 
a sovereign, to be given to you.” 

He looked her straight in the eyes, and said: 

“ I am unable to accept any official reward for 
202 


AN EXHIBITION OF PROPER PRIDE 


what I offered as purely unofficial service. The 
little I have been able to do was done entirely 
as an act of personal devotion to yourself. You 
know my views, and I couldn’t bear to be re- 
minded — even by one of your own gifts — of the 
great difficulties of my position here. But I 
am detaining you, and you look pale.” 

He bowed, kissed her hand, and marched out. 

“ Oh ! I must save myself somehow,” ex- 
claimed Margaret, turning to the baroness, who 
had been an unwilling spectator of this distress- 
ing scene, “ If it is a question of his pride against 
mine, he will find me a great surprise. 7 never 
wish to be reminded of my great difficulties here ! 
He ought not to have said that. I am a woman 
first, and a princess — a long time afterward. 
He ought not to have said it.” 

“ I shivered all over when he refused the 
key,” said Mopsle. “ That was very unkind.” 

“ Not at all unkind, Mopsle; it was my own 
fault.” 

“ Your fault, ma’am?” 

“ I ought to have remembered his convic- 
tions. I thought it extremely fine of him to 
refuse the key! I didn’t expect the refusal — 
but it was right. What is so admirable as con- 
sistency! In a woman, I admit, it is grim and 
203 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


out of place; in a man, it is noble! But does 
he think I wish to flatter and please him? ” 

“ But don’t you wish to please him? ” asked 
the baroness naively. 

“He must never know that — never! It is 
such a secret that it won’t even be found written 
on my heart when I am dead ! ” She went up 
to the throne and sat down on the lowest step. 

“ Men are right to be vain,” said the bar- 
oness; “ I cannot blame them. But I can see 
that His Highness loves you. He shows it.” 

“ How?” 

“ His eyes never leave you.” 

“ That proves nothing,” said Margaret, in- 
terested. 

“ He turned deathly pale when he saw you.” 

“ Ah, that was his terrific temper. It is ter- 
rific!” 

“ No, ma’am, that was love.” 

“ I thought you knew nothing about men! ” 

“ I am beginning to notice them, ma’am, 
since your Royal Highness’s marriage. Ah, do 
let him see that you love him, and forget all 
this pride for once. Call for him, send for him, 
ma’am, send for him.” 

“ Perhaps he wouldn’t come.” 

“ Oh, he wouldn’t dare to refuse.” 

204 


AN EXHIBITION OF PROPER PRIDE 


“ He will come out of courtesy, but I don’t 
want him that way.” 

“ And I don’t think, ma’am,” said the bar- 
oness naively, “ that he wants you that way.” 

“ The meeting was to be very short,” said 
Margaret, half yielding. 

The baroness opened the door and looked 
down the corridor. 

“ His Highness is just coming out of the 
council-room. Let me call him here,” she said. 

“ Wait a moment! ” 

“ He is turning back now. He is stopping 
to speak to Count Rixensart.” 

“ Call him,” said Margaret. “ No, don’t 
call him ! ” 

“ I needn’t call him, ma’am; he is coming.” 

“ I never felt so nervous in my life,” said the 
princess. “ I can hear his sword. . . . I be- 

gin to hate swords ! Tell him I want to see him, 
in case anybody else stops him.” 


205 


CHAPTER XVIII 


ANOTHER ARGUMENT AGAINST THE DE- 
CEPTIVENESS OF EVIDENCE 



F the courtiers and politicians were 
actively engaged in plotting and 
counterplotting out of zeal — it 
must be assumed — for the pros- 
perity of their country, Bertha Rixensart, with 
the gay egoism of her sex, was earnestly en- 
gaged in considering her own welfare. The 
family resources of the Rixensarts were incon- 
siderable, and the Rixensart menage depended 
for its luxuries, amusements, and freedom from 
care on the very handsome salary and per- 
quisites which the count received as Master of 
the Horse. Little Bertha could not picture 
herself deprived of any one of the comforts, to 
use a generic term, to which she had grown 
accustomed; and when she weighed the pre- 
cariousness of the future with Rixensart (de- 
prived of his post) with the solid and abiding 
206 


DECEPTIVENESS OF EVIDENCE 


attractions (such as a house in Carlton House 
Terrace, a yacht, and the like) held out by 
Harry Baverstock, she saw that there was no 
time to be lost. She conceived of an ingenious 
plan by which Baverstock could gain an entrance 
into the palace on the very day of the abdica- 
tion, and it was her intention to escape with him 
during the ceremony, in the excitement of which 
she would not be missed, or, if she were missed, 
no one would take the trouble to look for her. 
Harry, whom she had kept with much adroit- 
ness in the position of one who never is but 
always to be blest, faithfully carried out her 
instructions — with this result, that when Lord 
Feldershey returned to the throne-room, in obe- 
dience to the baroness’s summons, he ran into 
Count Marche, who was asking Her Royal 
Highness whether she would give a private 
audience to Mr. Baverstock. 

“ Mr. Baverstock ! ” said Margaret, who did 
not conceal her annoyance. 

“ He has sent an anonymous donation of 
thirty thousand pounds to the Military Hos- 
pital. He begs to be allowed to say good-by 
to your Royal Highness. He is going away for 
a long voyage.” 

“ This isn’t the best moment,” said Margaret. 

207 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ But thirty thousand pounds, your Royal 
Highness ! ” 

Margaret remembered her wounded men. 

“ I will see him at once,” she said, “ and send 
for the Countess Rixensart.” 

Marche departed, and Feldershey, who had 
been listening to the short interview, could 
scarcely conceal his indignation. It seemed to 
him that a crude attempt was being made to 
hoodwink him, and that he was being treated 
as a man who would willingly accept the tamer 
explanation of any ambiguous relationship. 
His anger was not appeased when Margaret 
said nervously: 

“ When I asked you to come, I thought we 
could talk quietly. But now — I almost think 
you ought not to be here.” 

“ You can’t see Baverstock alone,” said Feld- 
ershey. 

“ But,” she said, “ he might prefer to see 
me alone. I mean men hate being thanked 
before other people. I am really embarrassed 
myself. This sort of generosity is overwhelm- 
ing.” 

“ It is,” said Feldershey dryly; “ I could 
almost call it inexplicable ! ” and with these 
words he left her. 


208 


DECEPTIVENESS OF EVIDENCE 


Margaret had no time to wonder what he 
meant, for Bertha entered at that moment. 

“ You knew that Mr. Baverstock was coming 
this morning? ” said Margaret at once. 

“Is he coming? ” exclaimed Bertha, affect- 
ing astonishment. “ Who said so? ” 

“ He has paid thirty thousand pounds — ” 
said Margaret. 

“To see me! How magnificent! And I 
might have been out! ” 

“ He has given a donation to the Military 
Hospital. He pretends he wants to say good- 
by to me ! But I am not deceived. I know that 
you still contrive to meet each other.” 

“ No, no, honestly and truly, we never meet, 
but ” 

“But — but — but!” said Margaret impa- 
tiently, seizing her arm, “ you manage to write. 
You have deceived me again. You haven’t 
kept your word.” 

Bertha winced under her cousin’s firm grasp, 
and her underlip began to quiver. 

“ You know, dear Margaret,” she whim- 
pered, “ that I am always frank. Every one 
knows everything I am doing, and almost every- 
thing I am thinking. You couldn’t have ex- 
pected me to part with dear Harry without some 
209 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


proper understanding, and now that you have 
had the post-bags locked and sealed, it has been 
impossible for him to write me a word. If you 
understood affection, you wouldn’t be so severe. 
Of course the poor fellow has become des- 
perate.” 

For a moment Margaret was almost envious 
of the foolish but demonstrative infatuation 
which Bertha had been able to rouse in her com- 
monplace lover. And when Baverstock was 
ushered into the room by Bernstein and Marche, 
the princess’s manner was distant yet not un- 
sympathetic. Madness in love she now con- 
sidered excusable. 

“ You have been splendidly generous, Mr. 
Baverstock,” she said, holding out her hand, 
which the young man kissed. 

“ It is conscience-money, ma’am,” he replied. 
“ I have been uncomfortable ever since I bought 
my new yacht. I spend too much money on 
myself.” 

“ The poor soldiers will appreciate the gift. 
I understand that you are going away for a 
long voyage?” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” said Baverstock, dropping 
his eyes; while Bertha, taking out her fine cam- 
bric handkerchief, pressed it to her lips. 


210 


DECEPTIVENESS OF EVIDENCE 


“ It is a pity that you cannot postpone your 
journey,” said Margaret dryly, “ or you could 
have attended the ceremony to-day.” She was 
quite aware that Bertha had been trying her 
utmost to get him an invitation. “ You have 
my good wishes for your safe return;” and so 
she wished him good-by. 

He kissed her hand again, shook hands with 
Bertha, and bowed himself out in a way which 
displayed his figure to great advantage. Mar- 
garet thought to herself: “The man is really 
very good-looking, and he would look superb 
in a uniform.” But she said, turning quickly 
to Bertha: 

“ What is the meaning of all this? What did 
he give you? ” 

Bertha, by an instinctive movement, thrust 
the note into her bosom. 

“ Only a little note, dear,” she said, knowing 
the folly of attempting to deceive Margaret. 
“ Poor fellow, how he loves me! ” 

“ What is in the letter? ” asked her cousin. 

“ Can’t you imagine?” said Bertha, remov- 
ing a tear from her eyelashes with her little 
finger. “ But perhaps you can’t. Boris isn’t a 
good letter-writer, is he? At least, I shouldn’t 
think he was.” 


21 1 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ You — what do you know about Boris’s let- 
ters? ” said Margaret with scorn; and Bertha’s 
apparently innocent remark so exasperated the 
princess, that, without a further word, she swept 
out of the room. 

Bertha tore open Baverstock’s letter and read 
it immediately. Its contents pleased her so 
much that she danced with joy and clapped her 
hands. Marche, who had been watching this 
curious performance, came down from his post 
at the door of the private apartments, and said : 

“ You seem happy enough! ” 

“ I am happy,” she said sentimentally, “ be- 
cause I am going to leave all this soon and think 
about my soul and my own individuality. We 
are human beings, and this medieval official 
life ” 

“ Rats ! ” said Marche. “ You love it, and 
if you thought it had all come to an end you 
w 7 ould break your heart ! ” 

Bertha, without perturbation, smiled as an 
infant smiles: 

“ There is no humbug about you,” she said; 
“ that is one reason why I like you.” 


212 


CHAPTER XIX 


WHICH DESCRIBES A COINCIDENCE AND 
SOME MISUNDERSTANDINGS 

ELDERSHEY’S wrath had now 
reached its ultimate pitch. He 
thought he had been defied with an 
effrontery which was as insulting 
as it was unpardonable, and the case looked 
so black against Margaret, that his suspicions 
turned to something fiercer than hatred. Her 
ingratitude, as it seemed, her folly, her shallow- 
ness, and her deceit, were faults he felt, but 
could not yet name — even in the secrecy and 
hush of his own mind. Her portrait, painted 
by La very, hung in the corridor. Feldershey 
stood in front of it, and gazed at the counte- 
nance which had baffled him so often. Was she 
pretty? was she innocent? was she cunning? 
was she false? was she human, or was she a 
creature apart from all other women? was she 
some reincarnation of the Sphinx? was she one 
15 213 




THE FLUTE OF PAN 


of those enchanted witches of primordial legend 
who were transformed at fixed seasons from del- 
icate beings into wild beasts and carrion-birds? 
What was the old story, he had once read, of 
the beautiful wife who became a wolf against 
her will, and prowled evilly through the coun- 
tryside on dark nights? Was Margaret one of 
these accursed souls, half-devil and half-divine, 
who suffer in themselves as much woe as they 
cause in others? Fantastic as they were, he 
could bear these painful imaginings no longer. 
He turned on his heels, and went back to the 
throne-room, where he intended to confront 
Margaret finally, and put an end to a situation 
which had become too acute to be endured. 
But Margaret had already retired. He found 
Bertha alone, thinking about her elopement and 
twisting the curls on her forehead. 

“ Margaret has gone to her room,” said she. 
“ She is dreadfully upset. She was so much 
touched by Harry Baverstock’s generosity. It 
showed such disinterested affection.” 

“ Disinterested! ” exclaimed Feldershey. He 
checked himself, however, for he was loyal in 
spite of his inward despair. “ I haven’t had a 
chance to thank you for the charming letters 
you wrote me while I was away,” he said. 

214 


A COINCIDENCE 


Before leaving Santa Fiore on his wedding- 
day, he had asked her to write to him constantly 
about Margaret. He wanted to know all about 
her from a third person, he had said. Bertha 
had written clever little compositions in an in- 
fantile style — describing the worries of the prin- 
cess and her marvelous self-control. “She never 
cries , or anything” she had said; “she is so 
aloof and wrapt up in her work. What a won- 
derful woman! She does not seem to need love 
or pity or sympathy. How I envy her.” This 
strain had been varied. Once she wrote : 
“ Margaret is in wonderful spirits this evening, 
and talked and laughed with all of us. She has 
some new dresses, too, and new clothes always 
make her good-tempered. I don } t mean that 
she is vain. I have worn the same gown almost 
ever since you left, till the others are tired of 
it, and my maid says it is shabby .” Touches 
of that kind were not infrequent, and they were 
always adroit — given the simplicity of the man 
to whom the notes were addressed. 

“ I was hoping you had destroyed my silly 
journal — it was a journal, wasn’t it?” said 
Bertha. 

“ I haven’t destroyed it. You told me all 
I wanted to hear about Margaret.” 

215 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


Bertha sidled up to him, and lifted her eyes 
to his knit eyebrows. She was rather afraid 
of his direct cold glance. 

“ Promise me,” said she, “ that you will 
always, always think well of me.” 

“ Why, what’s the matter? ” he asked, much 
astonished at her plaintive tone. 

“ I don’t know, but I do want your good 
opinion. People may say I am artificial and 
insincere. Of course this life would ruin any 
woman. It is so hard to be a subordinate to a 
flesh-and-blood equal ! I grind my teeth when 
I have to stand about till I am told I may sit 
down. That isn’t all. I am fond of luxury 
and glamor and gilt and lots of money. So 
don’t think me better than I am, and yet — 
please, never think hardly of your poor little 
friend. I am not heartless; I wish I were. 
Let us say good-by here. It will be too 
terrible later. I haven’t dear Margaret’s 
iron nerves. I should break down and be 
ridiculous. So good-by, dear Boris. Perhaps 
we shall never meet again — to talk prop- 
erly.” 

She stood on tiptoe, swayed gently toward 
him, and inclined her head toward his lips. 
The movement was so childish, affecting, and 
216 


A COINCIDENCE 


guileless, that Feldershey kissed one of her 
feathery curls. 

“ This is all nonsense,” said he, “ about our 
never seeing each other again! Good-by, little 
girl.” 

“ Good-by,” she said, and sobbed. She 
dropped Baverstock’s note as she ran away, and 
with a gasp of terror she stooped and picked it 
up. Feldershey did not notice her; before she 
had crossed the threshold of the room, she had 
passed out of his life. 

But, by an unhappy accident, Margaret had 
entered the tribune just over the Throne at the 
time when Bertha stood on tiptoe to be kissed 
good-by. The spectacle of this farewell was 
such a shock to the princess that she actually lost 
control of her limbs, and, although she did not 
faint, she sank to the floor and felt herself a 
dead woman. It had been her intention to hang 
with her own hands some embroideries and old 
banners over the tribune rail — for she had in- 
herited from her mother many of the classic 
instincts of housewifery, and in her ways she 
was as simply domestic as Homer’s Nausicaa 
and Penelope. She had been known to arrange 
all the flowers on the supper-table for a State 
ball, and she often trimmed her own hats. This 
217 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


primitive naturalness, while it was a charm, 
made her the more susceptible to primitive emo- 
tions. When she felt, she felt with her whole 
body, and her mind had no part in her sensa- 
tions. Jealousy, grief, happiness, and appre- 
hensions were, with her, purely physical things ; 
she never thought about them; her thoughts 
were reserved for, and concentrated upon, ab- 
stract ideas. The effect of jealousy in her, 
therefore, was not a rage but an illness. She 
managed to return to her room, and she re- 
mained passive, absent-minded, and almost para- 
lyzed while the preparations for the abdication 
ceremony went on. She herself seemed to be 
vanishing into space, and the world seemed to 
be receding into an ocean of gray mist. Nothing 
mattered, and she believed she cared no longer 
for anybody. She saw no joy in living, and 
she wanted to die — so mortal was her fatigue. 
“ Dust and ashes — dust and ashes — dust and 
ashes ” were the words which pursued her, 
as a taunt from a voice speaking close to 
her ear, and from which she could not es- 
cape. 

“ Her Royal Highness is beginning to re- 
gret,” thought the ladies-in-waiting and the 
dressers. “ She sees already that she is making 
218 


A COINCIDENCE 


a mistake. The man is not worth the sacrifice, 
because no man is worth such a sacrifice. He 
will be the first to think her a fool for her pains.” 
It is possible that these prudent souls were right. 
The princess had misgivings — not about the re- 
nunciation of her rank, but about the value of 
all the things, whether material or sublime, for 
which the whole of humanity struggle, scheme, 
and perish in striving to hold or to secure. It 
will be seen that her humor for the time was 
dark, and that a kind of dogged resolution to 
show firmness now usurped the place of her once 
valiant hope. She hoped for nothing; she loved 
no one ; she put no faith in any creature. Moods 
change, and the most dolorous are often re- 
membered with smiles. Yet they never fail to 
contribute to the heart’s great hidden store of 
misery and disappointment. The princess lived 
to laugh merrily enough at some of her tragic 
hours. Such laughter, however, always hurts, 
and the gayer it is the less one enjoys it. 

From time to time that morning Madame 
von Rauser sent small bulletins to Prince Adolf 
on the subject of Margaret’s temper: 

“ She is very nervous and irritable .” 

“ She has a most curious expression .” 

“ She takes no interest in anything we say.” 

219 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ I wish we could have medical advice . I 
don't like her look." 

At last, she went to the prince, whom she 
found fuming and yellow. 

“ Margaret must be mad to give up her po- 
sition ! ” he exclaimed, “ and for what — for 
what? ” 

“ A soldier-man,” answered the Mistress of 
the Robes. 

“A fanatic! And it isn’t because he is a 
fanatic, or because he is a soldier, but because 
he is good-looking ! I know women.” 

“ If something could destroy Lord Felder- 
shey’s influence with H.R.H. !” sighed Ma- 
dame von Rauser. 

“‘If ’ — ' something / You live upon ‘ ifs ’ 
and ‘ huts.’ Great heavens ! I tell you we have 
reached a definite point.” 

“ And so have I, sir.” 

“What do you mean? Your mysterious 
hints will drive me out of my mind. Women 
are impossible — I detest them.” 

“ I know for a fact,” said Madame von 
Rauser steadily, “ that the Countess Rixensart 
wrote every day to Lord Feldershey while he 
was at the war.” 

“ Is it possible? ” 


220 


A COINCIDENCE 


“ It is better than possible — it is the truth.” 

“ I am amazed ! But Bertha is most dan- 
gerous. She invites one to luncheon to meet 
people who never turn up — and there one is — 
alone with her! She knows every dark recess 
of every conservatory of every ballroom in Eu- 
rope. And now, you say, she is making love 
to Boris. Monstrous! ” 

“ She wrote openly. The whole court knows 
it. The only precaution she took was to seal 
the envelopes! H.R.H. does not know of 
these letters. If you can disillusion her about 
Lord Feldershey, you will be cruel only to be 
kind.” 

“ Disillusion ! The man’s not guilty. What 
is a correspondence? Fribble — f rabble; noth- 
ing ! ” 

“ On the surface — nothing,” said Madame 
von Rauser; “ to a proud wife — death in the 
heart. Besides, H.R.H. and His Highness are 
on the most distant and formal terms.” 

44 Incredible!” 

“ The most formal terms, sir. They must 
both be truly wretched. She goes to Venice as 
his housekeeper! Ah, if they would all only 
realize that you are the one man who can govern 
this country.” 


221 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ How well you grasp big questions ! ” mur- 
mured the prince. 

“ Destroy Lord Feldershey’s influence over 
our beloved princess. Let her see the indignity 
of submitting to his will. He is not worthy of 
her. She wastes herself — how can I put it? 
She makes herself cheap. He cannot appreciate 
her noble character. She should leave him to 
Berthas and minxes.” 

“ What can I do ? There’s no time to be lost. 
What can I do ? ” 

“ Warn her. Tell her what I have told you. 
She is low-spirited and chagrined. She will 
listen quietly.” 

“ I’ll make one final effort,” said Prince 
Adolf. 



222 


rS 



CHAPTER XX 

IN WHICH TWO PRINCES LOSE THEIR TEM- 
PERS AND A PRINCESS KEEPS HERS 



RINCE ADOLF passed on to what 
was called the king’s room — a small 
apartment used by Lord Felder- 
shey and copied from the beautiful 
salle d'etude of Francois Premier at Chambord. 
His lordship — or, as he was now called, His 
Highness — was sitting at the writing-table, but 
he was not writing. He seemed lost in some 
gloomy day-dream, and Prince Adolf noticed 
how gray his hair had grown on the temples, 
how much deeper the lines were on his counte- 
nance, how he had aged at least ten years since 
the momentous day at the studio in Venice — not 
so many weeks before. The two men surveyed 
each other, and Prince Adolf sank with his ac- 
customed languid grace into a chair. 

“ I want to talk to you with some directness, 
Boris,” said he, and he decided to speak from 
223 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


what he supposed would be taken for his 
heart. 

“What about ?” asked Feldershey. 

“ Bertha,” said Adolf, with a profound sigh. 

Feldershey showed his astonishment. 

“ Bertha!” 

“ Rixensart is trying to pretend that I have 
compromised her. I won’t say all I fear — 
desperate men seek desperate remedies. You 
and I are worth powder and shot.” 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“ I am aware of your correspondence with 
Bertha,” said Adolf confidentially. 

“ But that is my business, surely.” 

“ Not yours only. It is mine — inasmuch as 
the husband is sticking pins into me; it is mine 
also — in so far as it affects poor Margaret.” 

“ You had better take care — you had better 
mind what you are saying. I warn you I have 
got a temper.” 

“ So has Margaret. So have I, my dear 
Boris. And I ask you,” he added pompously, 
u why, in the devil, you pay compromising at- 
tentions to a little hussy like Bertha Rixensart? 
It is dishonorable, it is undignified — it is actu- 
ally vulgar! As Rixensart seems bent on dri- 
ving me to some form of self-defense, I have 
224 


PRINCES LOSE THEIR TEMPERS 


no alternative but to place the matter before 
Margaret.” 

“ Do — do! ” said Feldershey. “ I will call 
her.” His anger was so great that it had all 
the symptoms of composure. “ I won’t endure 
any reign of terror. You are at liberty to tell 
my wife anything about me that you please. I 
have only one method with mischief-makers.” 
He called for Count Marche, and ordered him 
to summon the princess. 

“ I want to see Her Royal Highness at once,” 
he said; “ ask her to come at once.” 

The peremptoriness of the message, and its 
disobservance of the etiquette which the whole 
court always regarded as something more oblig- 
atory than religion, startled Prince Adolf as 
much as the equerry. They both thought that 
Feldershey had lost his head, and they both felt 
certain that the princess would utterly ignore his 
message. A derisive smile began to play around 
Adolf’s lips, and his whole being seemed to ex- 
hale, as it were, insults. As two beasts stare 
into each other’s eyes before they fight a 
outrance , the two men waited in a dreadful si- 
lence for Count Marche’s return. He returned 
sooner than they expected; he threw back the 
doors, and announced: 

225 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ Her Royal Highness.” 

The princess came as she was when she had 
been called. She wore the plain white silk un- 
derdress which belonged to the abdication cere- 
monial (she had decided to follow the prec- 
edent of Christina of Sweden) ; she had thrown 
an ermine stole over her shoulders, and a lace 
veil over her hair, which was not yet fully ar- 
ranged to support the weight of the crown. 
Her eyes were clear and bright; she had more 
color than usual in her cheeks; her spirit was 
now roused; she knew that she was right and 
that Boris was in the wrong — so much in the 
wrong that he had almost destroyed her love 
for him. It was easy to face him. She remem- 
bered the days long before at Berkele Abbey, 
and all his old letters to her — about his love for 
her, and his constant thoughts of her, and his 
longing for her, and his need of her love. And 
although she had once or twice laughed at 
him a little, and pretended to fear that his 
protestations were excessive, she had, never- 
theless, in her innermost soul believed him, 
and staked nothing less than her life, her 
country, and all her happiness upon his in- 
tegrity. 


226 


PRINCES LOSE THEIR TEMPERS 


“ If I once know, beyond a shadow of doubt, 
that he is treacherous and inconstant,” she 
thought, “ I shall be cured of all my grief. I 
shall love him no more, and therefore I shall 
fret no more. I must despise him.” 

Where she despised, her courtesy was always 
gentle. As she entered the room, Feldershey 
thought he had never seen her in so tender or so 
humble a mood. Was it because she had just 
left Baverstock? 

“You sent for me?” she said; “what has 
happened? what is it? ” She saw, at a glance, 
that Feldershey and her stepfather were on bad 
terms. 

“ It concerns me,” said Feldershey; “ it is 
some story.” 

“Some story!” she said, lifting her eye- 
brows. 

“ I wish him to tell you,” continued Felder- 
shey; “when he goes wrong, I can interrupt 
him!” 

“ Very well,” said Prince Adolf, enchanted 
at the success of his plan, “ very well. Since he 
has defied me, Margaret, when I have shown 
every delicacy and possible consideration — very 
well, I say — very well ! I have been forced to 
227 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


condemn his conduct in very strong terms. I 
don’t accuse him of anything more serious than 
indiscretion. He is carrying on a clandestine 
correspondence with Bertha ! ” 

Margaret’s self-possession did not fail her. 

“ With Bertha ! ” she said laughing. “ My 
dear papa, she has heard him swearing, and he 
frightens her. She thinks he has such bad 
manners. She couldn’t understand why I mar- 
ried him.” 

“ They write to each other constantly,” re- 
peated Prince Adolf; “ but you are such a sim- 
pleton — in spite of your cleverness — that any 
villain whom you choose to fancy can deceive 
you. He laughs at you in his sleeve — they both 
laugh at us.” 

“ I don’t think they will laugh at me,” said 
Margaret, so quietly that Prince Adolf was con- 
founded. 

“Not laugh!” he exclaimed. “You, once 
the proudest woman in Europe, will trapese like 
a beggar-maid after a fanatic! But one might, 
at any rate, respect a fanatic. Can you respect 
a heartless, self-seeking man who cares nothing 
about you, and sacrifices you to the amusement 
of Europe for the satisfaction of his colossal 
vanity? ” 


228 


PRINCES LOSE THEIR TEMPERS 


“ You presume too far on your years,” said 
Feldershey, springing to his feet. “ I won’t 
stand this.” 

“ I, too, have heard enough, papa,” said 
Margaret. 

Prince Adolf, entirely satisfied with his work, 
drew himself up to his full height, bowed, and 
went out. 

“ Margaret,” said Feldershey, “ if I told you 
that what he said was true — because, in a cer- 
tain sense, it is the truth ” 

She looked at him, and her eyes, in spite of 
their depth, were a blank. He could not under- 
stand their expression. 

“ I know it is the truth,” she said, “ but I 
did not choose to tell him so. I saw you and 
Bertha together half an hour ago. I saw you 
kiss her with my own eyes.” 

“ You saw us saying good-by,” he stam- 
mered, “ but if you could have heard what we 
said ” 

“ It was not necessary to hear what was said. 
I saw what took place. You see,” she went on 
lightly, “ if you had been an ordinary man, it 
would have seemed indiscreet, but quite natural. 
But you — who renounced courts because of their 
silliness, and gave up your money, your position, 
16 229 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


your friends, because you believed they were 
waste of time! You are as ready as any other 
man to flirt with a pretty woman whom you can- 
not by any possibility — love.” 

“ I am glad you see that,” said Feldershey. 
“ I was grateful to her because she wrote to me 
about you.” 

“ About me! ” 

“ You can read all the letters for yourself.” 

“ I don’t wish to read them,” she said 
quickly. “ And I don’t suppose you do care 
for Bertha — but if it isn’t Bertha now, it may 
some day be some one else. And why? Be- 
cause in the life of this court there is nothing 
to sober one! Even if we loved each other, 
we should have no time for each other. We 
have only time for other people ! ” 

“ I don’t admit that. There is no one here 
for me except yourself.” 

She looked incredulous, and there was no re- 
sentment under her incredulity. 

“ You have fulfilled your part of the bargain, 
at any rate,” she said. 

“ Bargain! You ought not to harp on that. 
You took my part against that man just now. 
Could you have done it if you had really 
trusted me? Wouldn’t you have shown your 
230 


PRINCES LOSE THEIR TEMPERS 


disappointment in me? But,” he added bitterly, 
“ you are such an actress.” 

“ Haven’t I been trained all my life to crush 
my own heart at every turn? ” she said. “ Be- 
sides, I have to think many times before I show 
any feeling, and even then I generally decide 
not to show it. Of course, I did believe that 
you meant all you told me years ago ” 

“ So I did,” he said. 

“ — And I was always sincere with you,” she 
went on, as though she had not heard his asser- 
tion. “ I can still be always sincere with you; 
as it is, I prefer to think that you have lost all 
your old ideas about me. It is better to believe 
that — if I can — than to be quite certain that 
you are a liar.” 

“A liar!” 

“Yes; a man is a liar who tells a woman 
again and again that he loves her, and then 
tries to repudiate it by his actions. You had 
the advantage of me — because I believed you. 
Can’t you see how I must have believed you 
before I could have acted as I did? I daresay 
I seemed flippant at times — that was in self-de- 
fense. Women are always on the defensive even 
with the men they love best — most of all, per- 
haps, with the men they love best. If I ever win 
231 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


in a game, I must win by playing fair. You 
have not played fair. But you married me — 
you stopped the rebellion. And now my turn 
has come.” 

“What do you mean?” said Feldershey. 
“ You have never talked like this before.” 

“ I made you a promise,” said Margaret. 
“ I am going to keep it.” 

“ Why,” said Feldershey, “ should you keep 
it when you think me a liar, and have lost all 
faith in me? ” 

“ Because,” she said, “ if I failed because you 
had failed, I should have contempt for both of 
us. But I always mean what I say. If I can 
do nothing else, I can perhaps give you a lesson 
in sincerity.” 

He was about to reply, when they were dis- 
turbed by a considerable murmuring and the 
sound of footsteps in the corridor outside. 

“ Can we never be alone? ” exclaimed Feld- 
ershey; “ can we never have even half an hour’s 
peace? ” 

“ I am glad of the interruption,” said Mar- 
garet; “to me it is a distraction and a relief. 
But when they come, we must seem to be 
happy.” 

There was a tapping at the door. Felder- 
232 


PRINCES LOSE THEIR TEMPERS 


shey himself opened it, and Marche, who wore 
an anxious air, begged to know whether Her 
Royal Highness could grant a short interview 
with Prince Adolf and some members of the 
Privy Council. They had a communication to 
lay before Her Royal Highness. 

“ If it is important,” said Margaret, “ I 
must see them. I will see them here at once.” 

But Adolf, Count Rixensart, and the three 
Ministers who represented the Loyalist party 
in the Government, were already on Marche’s 
heels, and Prince Adolf, followed by the others, 
burst into the room. 

“ I have just got a despatch from the Em- 
peror,” said he, “ a private communication, in 
which he urges me to use every argument in 
my power to dissuade you from this calamitous 
blunder of abdication.” 

“ Half the people haven’t got it through their 
heads yet that your Royal Highness will do it,” 
said the Minister of Finance. 

“ There’s plenty of enthusiasm for your 
Royal Highness,” said the Minister of Com- 
merce. 

“ If your Royal Highness knows how to use 
it,” cynically observed the Minister for Foreign 
Affairs. 


233 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ Your Royal Highness calls out the best 
qualities of the best men,” said the Minister 
who had referred to enthusiasm. He wore a 
self-conscious smile. 

“ And now your Royal Highness is married, 
your position is doubly secure,” said Count 
Rixensart, with a flattering glance in Lord Feld- 
ershey’s direction. 

“ You misunderstand my attitude,” said Mar- 
garet. “ I am resigning because I have a con- 
viction that it is not the life for me.” 

Adolf threw up his hands with a gesture 
of impatience: “You were born for it; it is 
your birthright. Will you renounce it for a 
caprice? ” 

“ I am entirely in agreement with the views 
of my husband, who himself renounced a great 
deal years ago, when I didn’t agree with him. 
I do agree with him now,” said Margaret 
firmly. 

“ It will lead to a rebellion,” said Rixensart. 

“ The worst we have had yet,” said the Min- 
ister of Commerce. 

“ I have set my face one way, and I will not 
turn back,” said Margaret. 

“ Are the proceedings to go on? ” asked the 
Minister of Finance dryly. 

234 


PRINCES LOSE THEIR TEMPERS 


“ Of course they are to go on,” said Mar- 
garet. 

“ It is madness ! ” exclaimed Adolf. 

“ I am still mistress here,” exclaimed Mar- 
garet, “ and I have given the orders! ” 

The enthusiastic Minister said, in his bland- 
est manner: “Will your Royal Highness not 
allow ” 

“ Gentlemen,” said Margaret, rising from 
her chair, “ we are already five minutes late.” 

The Ministers retired with Prince Adolf and 
Count Rixensart into a corner, and they made 
no attempt to conceal their dissatisfaction. 

“ Margaret! ” said Feldershey, going up to 
her. 

“ We are already five minutes late,” she said, 
but in a less commanding tone than she had used 
to the Ministers. She walked out of the room, 
and the men had no alternative but to fall into 
the order of their precedence and follow her. 
Feldershey alone remained behind. 


235 


CHAPTER XXI 


WHICH IS SHORT BUT IMPORTANT 

OR the first time in his life, Felder- 
shey felt the keen uneasiness of re- 
morse. He wasted no thought on 
the episode (which seemed to him 
trivial) with Bertha, but Margaret’s words 
about the old days of his devotion to herself bit 
into his heart, and he wondered whether he had 
not given too much power to pride, and paid too 
little heed to his better instincts. It was the 
second experience of a forgotten sensation to 
think of Margaret in any other character than 
that of a disturbing influence. Had he mis- 
taken a summer breeze for a whirlwind, or a 
nightingale for a vulture, or a rose for the upas- 
tree? From the beginning, he had utterly mis- 
read and mismanaged her; he had approached 
her always in a vindictive humor — the merciless 
appetitive humor which sometimes passes for 
true love. That there are many ways of loving 
236 



SHORT BUT IMPORTANT 


was a rudimentary truth which had, for certain 
reasons, escaped Feldershey’s conscience. And 
the certain reasons for this ignorance were these : 
he had spent his time among ladies of gay phi- 
losophy; he had never encountered the least 
opposition to his caprices; he had never been 
driven to consider seriously the nature of his 
relations with any human being. He had, there- 
fore, a contemptuous estimate of all love-affairs, 
and, to him, any idealism on the subject seemed 
incomprehensible. His affection for Margaret 
had always puzzled and tormented him, for it 
had thwarted that mania of selfishness which his 
education had produced, fostered, and glorified. 
His impulse was the crude male impulse — 
strong at all the ages of man — to destroy the 
thing he could not explain. Yet there had been 
a prelude to his present condition, which, as he 
now remembered it, seemed more beautiful than 
anything else in his life. It was the time before 
he fell, as it is called, in love with Margaret, 
when he admired her from a distance as one ad- 
mires a star, or a statue, or a picture, or a pretty 
child; when he had been able to forget himself 
entirely in the mere pleasure of seeing her, or be- 
ing near her. So long as he had been uncon- 
scious of himself, he had considered his feelings 
237 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


far indeed from those of a lover; but as time 
went on, and he became egoistic, restless, and 
bad-tempered, he had no doubt at all of his 
wishes — much as he resented their power, and 
in spite of his ingenuity in calling them by other 
names. A marriage with Margaret seemed im- 
possible (he did not want to marry), still, he 
asked her to marry him — not in the hope that 
she would accept his offer, but that she might 
have some excuse for owning her love for him. 
He could not be sure that she loved him, and he 
could not bear the suspense of such an uncer- 
tainty. What had her answer been? Neither 
yea nor nay, but a laugh — a curious, half-mock- 
ing, half-indulgent laugh — as though she under- 
stood him and forgave him. And understand- 
ing, at that moment, was the last thing he 
wanted, and her forgiveness cut his self-love to 
the quick. He pretended that he did not mean 
what she unfortunately thought he meant. At 
first, she allowed herself, for his sake, to be 
placed at that disadvantage, but her spirit could 
not long submit to such an injustice. She ut- 
tered her mind plainly; he shrugged his shoul- 
ders; it was a triumph of pure love that they 
remained on speaking terms. Then she went 
to Siguria, and he resolved to banish her for- 
238 


SHORT BUT IMPORTANT 


ever from his thoughts. But, as he could not 
say, even in his wrath, that he hated her, he 
owned openly that he was quite devoted to her 
— a form of fealty in which the world, and 
Margaret, detected a revenge more bitter than 
the harshest abuse. How long ago and empty 
all that performance seemed! 

“ I have been playing the fool,” he thought, 
“ and I have lost her! ” 

He was not the man to bear losses with a 
good grace. 

The princess was robed as hurriedly for her 
abdication as she had been dressed for her wed- 
ding, but whereas she had been happy and 
agitated on the latter occasion, she was now 
unhappy and calm. She had never been so still, 
and the reluctance which she had feared she 
might be weak enough to feel in leaving the 
palace forever, did not assail her. As she 
looked at herself for the last time in her crown 
and regalia, there shone no more for her any 
brilliancy in diamonds, any luster in pearls, any 
color of the heart in rubies, any magic of love 
in sapphires, any pomp in the gorgeous livery 
of rank. She smiled at the notion she had once 
held of the preciousness of these things. 

239 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ And must I smile at Boris, too, in the same 
way?” she thought. Tears sprang swiftly to 
her eyes, and the attendants supposed that she 
was betraying, much against her will, some an- 
guish over the farewell to her material posses- 
sions. But she was wondering why Feldershey 
had not been given a heart more like her own, 
or why her own was not more callous. 


** Amour, a qui je dois et mon mal et mon bien, 

Que ne luy donniez-vous un cceur comme le mien, 
Ou que n’avez-vous fait le mien commes les autres!” 


When she and Feldershey met to join hands 
for the drive to the Senate-House, he was be- 
coming aware that love was a more sacred gift 
than he had ever supposed it to be, and Mar- 
garet had learned that by renouncing what was 
artificial she had gained the kingdom of her 
own soul. The abdication was made first at the 
Senate-House, and afterward in the throne-room 
before the assembled court. Although the two 
ceremonies occupied several hours, they were 
ended long before it was realized that the prin- 
cess had fulfilled her promise. No one, from the 
most experienced to the humblest of her sub- 
jects, had believed that the curious precedent of 
240 


SHORT BUT IMPORTANT 


Christina of Sweden would be followed by any 
modern woman or man. It was a day’s wonder 
— to wonder for the traditional nine days is no 
longer the fashion. But, for a day, Europe was 
amazed and a little scandalized; it was hoped 
that the princess would understand that she 
could no longer expect any official recognition. 
She had cut herself adrift from the society of her 
equals, and her inferiors would find her an em- 
barrassment. 

“ She must be mad,” said the Emperor — not 
for the first time. 



241 



CHAPTER XXII 

THE CLOCK IS MENDED 



j]ADY FELDERSHEY and her sis- 
ter, Lady Amersham, had been for 
some days in Venice, superintending 
the new decoration of Feldershey’s 
studio. It was now furnished with treasures and 
hung with tapestries; a staff of competent serv- 
ants had been engaged, and Lady Feldershey 
felt able to tell herself that everything was in 
order. Even the clock in the back of the god 
Pan had been restored and put in order. The 
students had raised a small wedding-present 
fund for that purpose. Every hour, therefore, 
the flute played a little air. 

“ I have always said it was the one thing 
lacking !” said Lady Feldershey. “We had 
the flute, and Pan — but no music. Now we 
shall have all three. Perhaps it is a good omen, 
Llelen. Perhaps my boy will have the music in 
242 


THE CLOCK IS MENDED 


his life which I have always wanted there. He 
believes in it; he has never heard it! ” 

“ Dear Evelyn,” replied Lady Amersham, 
“ you are so sentimental ! Still, I consider you 
an heroic woman. I have never moved a finger 
for my boys, and see how well they have got on. 
You forget yourself for Boris; Margaret for- 
gets herself for Boris; he takes it all as a matter 
of course.” 

“ I know, dear, I’m a great silly; but would 
two such nice women as Margaret and I forget 
ourselves, as you say, for a worthless man? I 
assure you he has his own way of making him- 
self loved. Doesn’t this room look charming? ” 
The windows were open, letting in the moon- 
light and showing the colored lamps on the 
passing gondolas, and the yachts at anchor on 
the lagoon. 

“ I wonder what they will think of it all at 
close quarters,” continued Lady Feldershey. 
“ Palaces and riches are not the only disappoint- 
ing things in the world. One can be terribly 
disappointed in a life of hardships — they are 
not always so hard ! When romantic young 
people make up their minds to suffer, and are 
determined to be unhappy, no ordinary anxiety 
satisfies them ! ” 

24? 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


She went round the rooms once more — mov- 
ing flowers, patting draperies, stroking curtains, 
adjusting lamp-wicks, lowering candle-shades, 
and repeating orders already thrice-told to the 
servants. Then, with a deep sigh, she took her 
sister’s arm and left it all. 

“ Boris won’t wish to see me yet,” she said; 
“ this is their honeymoon ! ” 

Margaret and Feldershey, meanwhile, were 
fast approaching Venice. They had left the 
Sigurian capital by a special train on the night 
following the abdication, and they had found 
the journey almost amusing. The two now 
looked at each other with kinder eyes, and al- 
though they were not fully reconciled, although 
the fire of anger was not yet quite extinguished, 
although each was still uncertain of the other’s 
temper, they were conscious that the ice between 
them had melted. Feldershey found himself 
very lonely in his own saloon, whereas Mar- 
garet’s saloon seemed far more comfortable. 
He walked in and out of it several times on 
various excuses, and as she did not appear to 
think either his restlessness or his company un- 
welcome, he remained with her the greater part 
of the time. At first they did not talk much; 
she tried to read a book, while he seized the 
244 


THE CLOCK IS MENDED 


opportunity to watch her face in repose. She 
was, he decided, a very pretty woman, with a 
gentle, sad, almost timid expression. The flash 
was, no doubt, ever ready to kindle in her dark- 
blue eyes, and the upper lip, which he rather 
detested, was no doubt ever ready to smile de- 
fiance. Still, the eyes were soft enough now, 
and the smile was subdued. He could not think 
that her spirit was broken, but he had heard a 
whisper at the court to the effect that he had 
broken her heart. What had he done? how 
had he been to blame? She looked up once, and 
colored under the curious scrutiny of his gaze. 
But she resumed her reading — the latest success 
in comedies at the Frangais. Presently, Felder- 
shey began to speak of Paris, and the plays he 
had seen, and people he had met. They ex- 
changed opinions and news; they found they 
agreed absolutely on every subject. He thought 
her the most soothing, delightful woman he had 
ever seen ; she wondered why she had ever 
thought him odious. 

“ And I might have lost her! ” he reflected. 

“ And I might have quarreled with him ir- 
revocably! ” she remembered. 

They spoke of the times at Berkele Abbey: 
how he had first seen her at eleven years of age, 
17 245 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


in an enormous Leghorn hat trimmed with 
daisies, and a white-lace frock over a blue-silk 
slip. Her hair fell in curls to her waist, and 
she ran, showing her white-silk stockings and 
small white-kid shoes, over the lawn, through 
the woods, across the meadows, disobeying her 
nurse, terrifying her governess, scaring the 
pigeons and the peacocks, amazing her tutor. 
Feldershey caught her and carried her back, be- 
cause she had kicked off her white shoes stained 
green with grass and brown with mud. And 
although she had defied the nurse, the governess, 
and the tutor, she had smiled sweetly at Felder- 
shey till he brought her safely to the swing on 
the lawn — where she showed her ingratitude 
and independence by struggling away and swing- 
ing to dangerous heights. Perhaps the recol- 
lection of their first meeting had affected his 
whole idea of her character. 

“ I thought you were a treacherous little 
girl,” he confessed. 

“ And I thought you should have held me 
tighter,” she said; “ I found I could get away 
from you, and I got away! ” 

Then, after she had grown up, and her hair 
was piled up on her head and her gown reached 
the floor, they had danced together on her eight- 
246 


THE CLOCK IS MENDED 


eenth birthday. She was a graceful dancer, but 
it made him so furious to see her whirling round 
with any other man except himself, that he left 
the ballroom and walked alone in the garden, 
swearing that she had no heart and not so much 
beauty. Nevertheless, he fell in love with her, 
and she was so enchanted by his first love-letter, 
that, although she teased him about it, she car- 
ried it in her bosom all day and slept with it 
under her pillow all night. Gradually, the 
world at large discovered the romance in the 
situation. It whispered: “ Feldershey is infatu- 
ated, and the princess is amusing herself.” 
Prophets declared that she would treat him 
badly, leave him in the lurch, and ruin his career. 
It is certain that she did not behave in the 
common manner of enamored girls. Perhaps 
she felt instinctively that his affection then was 
more fierce than lasting; that it was selfish; that 
it depended on her appearance and not on her 
nature. Now, although she was extremely fond 
of dress and jewels and finery, and although 
she took much pleasure in admiration, she was, 
as a lover, an idealist; that is to say, she had 
calm senses and a passionate heart. Any con- 
stitution of the kind, whether in a man or a 
woman, is foredoomed to acute suffering, per- 
247 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


petual misunderstanding, and a good deal of 
enmity from the greater number of persons who 
live by the inverse ratio — a stagnant heart and 
undisciplined senses. 

“ You were always an enigma to me,” said 
Feldershey suddenly. He had not forgotten 
Baverstock, and he intended to have the Baver- 
stock mystery explained by a lie — if not by the 
truth. 

“ She shall give me some explanation at any 
rate,” he thought. 



248 



CHAPTER XXIII 

THE CONTENTS OF A LITTLE BOOK IN 
A DRESSING-CASE 

HE princess had brought with her an 
old journal which she, as a girl, had 
written at Berkele Abbey. She had 
promised herself again and again 
that she would read it, but the fear of reviving 
innocent ideas, which had now proved painful 
deceptions, had been greater than her curiosity. 
The volume remained unlocked and hidden 
away — the very sight of its cover made her 
wince. To-night, however, she could not sleep. 
Feldershey had gone to his own saloon; the 
regular beat of the carriage-wheels lulled her 
nerves; her heart was less heavy than it had 
been for many months, and as she knew that she 
would not be disturbed for several hours, she 
took the little book from her dressing-case, and 
opened it for the first time in six years. 

Thus it began: 



249 



THE FLUTE OF PAN 


Sept . i, 1 8 — . — Every one seems pleased with 
my performance of Kate Hardcastle in “ She 
Stoops to Conquer,” and the theatricals may be 
called a success. Feldershey, whom I have not 
seen for ages, is more peculiar than ever, but he 
walked round the lake with me this morning 
and praised my acting — an unusual thing for 
him, because he always finds fault with every- 
body, n'importe qui. 

“ You must have been very much in love at 
some time,” said he — “ perhaps you are still — 
to be able to play love-scenes as you do.” 

“ That’s the strange part,” I answered. “ I 
have never been in love at all.” 

“ Never? ” said he, in a rude, astonished way. 

I was rather hurt, and I said, “ Never,” with 
much dignity. He forgets himself often, I 
think. I do not know another man with such 
bad manners. He did not seem to notice that 
I was offended, and he went on in the same 
doubting tone: 

“ How strange ! I thought every girl fell 
in love any number of times before she was 
nineteen. You are nineteen and a half. But 
I don’t suppose that many people, at any age, 
are in love in the romantic way. In most cases, 
one gets used to some one, and fond of her, 
250 


CONTENTS OF A LITTLE BOOK 


and so on. As for me, I am always cold- 
blooded.” 

“ How many times,” I asked, meaning to be 
sarcastic, “ have you thought you were — cold- 
blooded?” 

He never feels irony, and it is wasted upon 
him. 

“ Ever so many times,” he said, “ I have 
known somebody nice, and I have wondered why 
I couldn’t like her better.” 

“You remember Browning: 

« How is it under our control 
To love or not to love ? 

I would that you were all to me. 

You that are just so much, no more.” 

He does not care for poetry; I enjoyed quo- 
ting Browning. But he listened thoughtfully, 
whereas I had expected him to shout : 

“ Browning is a terror! ” 

“ Yes, that’s it,” he said; “ I get a glorious 
day, and the sky all it ought to be, and the birds 
singing, and a very pretty woman, and we are 
awfully nice to each other, and then — some- 
how — X could kick myself for not being more 
pleased. Do you know that feeling?” 

251 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


This was too amusing; I had to answer him 
in his own manner. 

“ I know it well,” said I; “ and isn’t it disap- 
pointing? I have often wondered why I can’t 
fall in love when I wish. I meet clever, hand- 
some, or interesting men every day; no doubt, 
you meet the most enchanting women constantly, 
but — ” I couldn’t finish the sentence well, 
so I put on the nearest imitation I could manage 
of his own bored expression. (I do not believe 
he was bored in reality. He is not free from 
affectation.) 

“ I see all the charm, and the good looks — ” 
he said. 

“ I know,” said I, “ but if I cannot love, I 
cannot. Something stops me — something says : 
4 No, no ! this isn’t the one ! ’ ” 

“ Half the time one has to persuade one’s self 
into caring — really pull one’s self by the ear.” 

“ And reproach one’s self,” said I sympathet- 
ically, “ for want of heart.” 

He gave me one of his sharp, angry glances : 

“ I have no heart,” said he. “ I am ashamed 
to own it.” 

“ We are much alike — in that respect,” 
said I. 

“ All the same,” said he, “ when you acted 
252 


CONTENTS OF A LITTLE BOOK 


as you did last night, it seemed lifelike; it’s 
hard to think it was acting. Hereafter, I could 
never be quite sure when you were in earnest 
or when you weren’t. That doubt would make 
me uneasy.” 

“ On the stage,” said I, “ I become some- 
body else — I’m transformed. I don’t do what 
/ would do; I do what she would do — she, 
the other woman. Perhaps you would call me 
a mechanism. But here, now, with you, there’s 
no play any more — I am myself.” 

“ I don’t believe you,” said he. 

I was never more angry: 

“ Do you mean that I am a liar? ” said L 

He never answered me. I do not see how 
I can remain friends with such an uncouth per- 
son. I was too thankful that the Duke of 
Chamford joined us, and talked in a most 
agreeable way about landscape-gardening, the 
Memoirs of Saint-Simon, and the sonnets of 
Leonardo da Vinci. Feldershey put on such a 
supercilious air that I blushed for him. One 
was almost glad when he left one. 

Sept. 5. — I do not want to care too much for 
anybody. I don’t dare ; it is too dangerous. I 
must not. They say that love is the answer to 
life. That isn’t true — while you love, at any 
253 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


rate. Afterward — perhaps. Afterward, when 
it is all over. But that is just what I fear — 
the time when it is over . If it never begins, 
it cannot end. Let me love for a little, then. 
I say that all day — let it be a little — a little. 
Don’t let me get too serious. I mustn’t. 
Others must be colder than I am; they haven’t 
so much to give — so much to lose. They are 
self-contained, and they can be perfectly happy 
alone. I am not happy alone, although there 
are few people with whom I care to be for any 
length of time, and to all the rest I do prefer 
solitude infinitely. 

Sept. 7. — Feldershey rode over this morning. 
He looks his best on a horse. There may be 
better-looking men from the conventional stand- 
point, but it is impossible not to admire him. 
No one could find fault with his expression; he 
fails in character — not in appearance. I should 
pity any girl who became attached to him. I 
am almost certain that he is incapable of any 
deep love. And yet he makes remarks occa- 
sionally, when he is off his guard, which show un- 
expected depths of feeling. To-day, he tried to 
be pleasant, and he succeeded. My life has been 
spent in such a hurricane of insincerities, that 
I long for some honest friend who sees things 
254 


CONTENTS OF A LITTLE BOOK 


as they are, and speaks from his soul. The 
word soul makes Feldershey roar with laughter. 
I wasn’t born for realities; they hurt. I want 
things to be as beautiful as they are in poetry. 
Feldershey said: “ Why do you read such stuff? 
It makes you artificial. Be natural — be your- 
self. You’re subtle, I know, but that’s inter- 
esting. I don’t ask you to be commonplace. 
Be what you are.” 

“ What am I?” I asked. 

“ A real woman ! There are women and real 
women. You are a real woman.” 

“ But I am real in my way, not in your way,” 
I said. 

“ Only five minutes ago I was trying to think 
I wasn’t in love with you,” he said. “ I have 
been in love with you all along, and I never 
knew it — I swear I didn’t. I knew there was 
no one else like you, and I knew that I was 
perfectly happy with you. What is to become 
of us? What is going to happen? ” 

“ Now we are getting too serious,” I said. 
As a matter of fact, I knew he was not so seri- 
ous as he should have been, and I felt rather 
hurt. On ne badine pas avec Vamour. I dis- 
like this indolent compliment-making, which 
may mean anything or nothing. It is too easy 
255 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


to believe that one is loved by some one whom 
one likes. Curiously enough, I had to remind 
myself quickly that Feldershey was not a man 
who treated love as more than a sort of sport. 
I don’t doubt that he has what is called a fond- 
ness for me, but such an easy fondness does not 
flatter me; on the contrary, it wounds me, be- 
cause I know that it is worthless. 

Sept. 9. — He has written me a letter. I 
think he must be in earnest after all. But if he 
isn’t 

Sept. 10. — I have seen him. I think he 
meant every word he wrote in his letter, but he 
wishes that he had not written it, or meant it. 
His disposition is ungracious, and it irritates 
him to find that he can care for anybody except 
himself. I never asked him to care for me, 
and I never made the smallest effort to attract 
him. But I do not want such begrudged love 
— it humiliates me. I think he would like to 
wring my neck. 

Oct. 30. — I have not written in this journal 
for nearly six weeks. There has been nothing 
to say. Numbers of guests have come and gone ; 
I may have to return to Siguria. They tell 
me it will be a hard, anxious life; but I do not 
mind anxieties, and the less time I have to 
256 


CONTENTS OF A LITTLE BOOK 


think about myself as a human being, the hap- 
pier I shall be. Feldershey and I were wise to 
quarrel, for he thinks only of pleasure and the 
moment, whereas I can never forget pain and 
eternity. I have never had any pain of body, 
but I have had great pain of mind; I have 
also known many unhappy people, and seen 
much suffering. How can I put such knowledge 
away from me? I hear and read much stuff 
about the joys of childhood and girlhood. Chil- 
dren are often utterly wretched — because they 
see so much deceit around them, and are told 
so many lies. Girls have many sorrowful hours, 
because they, too, are told lies, and they meet 
with disappointments, and make mistakes, and 
look for a happiness which does not seem to 
exist at all. No old woman is ever so lonely 
as a young girl can be. An old woman may 
know that there are many worse things than 
loneliness, but a girl thinks that nothing could 
be so hard to bear. A girl wishes to be loved 
by some one whom she can adore : an old woman 
is contented if she can send flowers to a grave 
and deceive herself about the faults of the dead 
under the stone. Haven’t I seen such cases 
again and again? It is the young who are 
broken-hearted — not the middle-aged, not the 
257 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


elderly. When I grow old, I shall be very kind 
to silly young people, as they are called. They 
pay, indeed, for all the selfishness of humanity. 
The Baroness d’Albreuse tells me that no one 
would guess, to see me in society, that I have 
such a melancholy mind. But when I am melan- 
choly, I consider it my duty to avoid society. 
I go out when I am in high spirits — which is 
often the case. If, however, I am obliged to 
see people when I am in no humor for them, 
I force myself to be polite. Is it their fault 
that I am out of tune? I may not always suc- 
ceed in acting well: it is my rule, nevertheless, 
to lose sight of myself and to forget my private 
thoughts in public. 

The parting with Feldershey was almost too 
quiet to remember. I shed so many tears, and 
grieved so much, over our first real quarrel, that 
everything since then has been light. We parted 
on the most charming, delicate terms, and I 
was astonished at my own unfeigned serenity. 
Afterward, my head ached, and it was difficult 
to join in conversation. I wanted quiet — utter 
quiet. I believe it is almost easy to part with 
anybody, or anything, if one can once see that 
a break is necessary. The seeing this is the 
terrible hour. One wants to remain blind: one 
258 


CONTENTS OF A LITTLE BOOK 


struggles: one argues: one hopes: one lives on 
falsehoods: one denies one’s own infallible in- 
stincts. Yet it is all useless and in vain. I 
believe that I shall always keep my affection for 
Feldershey, although he has injured the idyllic 
part of it — which was the part I wanted to 
keep forever. It was such a romance to me 
when I had any worries, any troubles. When 
I was tired, I would say to myself: “ But he is 
coming; I shall see him soon; or I shall have 
a letter from him.” Just that — it was quite 
enough. Perhaps the letter would be a note 
about a horse. Still, it made me happy for 
hours. Well, that is ended. I shall not be able 
to think that way any more. I shall not be 
able to depend upon him any more. I was just 
beginning to understand: I was just beginning 
to be glad I was alive: I was just beginning 
to see the beautiful things in the world. They’ll 
never come back — never, never come back — or, 
if they do come back, they will not seem the 
same, and I shall be afraid to trust them. 

Nov. 7. — I might quit the world, but the 
world will not quit its prey. A year has gone 
since I last wrote in this journal, but I have 
had no time for such writing. The Prime 
Minister has just sent in his resignation, and I 
259 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


have accepted it with calm. I excel in saying 
“ adieu.” I never wish persons to remain where 
they are restless or dissatisfied; or, as it some- 
times happens, when work, or duty, or destiny 
calls them away. For this reason, I am called 
heartless, and it is wondered that I keep any one 
attached to me. I wonder whether I shall ever 
meet Feldershey again? We are, I suppose, as 
likely not to meet as to meet — although he writes 
to me occasionally, and I reply. One can never 
grow accustomed to the strangeness of life — 
which is not strangeness half the time, but 
ordinariness , did we think of it quietly. I have 
long suspected, and during the last few months 
I have been convinced, that there is no peace 
to be found except in an utter detachment from 
all individuals and all things. I cannot succeed 
in acquiring this desirable indifference: still, I 
am making some progress. It is believed that 
I enjoy my position extremely; that I do not 
see the hollowness, vanity, wickedness, and 
stupidity of my court circle, or the mental, if 
not the commercial, dishonesty of my politicians. 
I know it well : very little escapes me. On the 
other hand, I never mistook Siguria for Paradise 
or my advisers for saints. They have urged me 
to marry ever since my accession, and it is dif- 
260 


CONTENTS OF A LITTLE BOOK 


ficult to find fault with some of the princes sug- 
gested. I am not so foolish as to regard a 
State-arranged marriage in any romantic light, 
and, just as I looked for no pleasure in ruling 
over this country, I do not pretend that there 
is any happiness for me in making a political 
treaty by means of a nuptial mass. Is it sur- 
prising that I should wish to postpone as long 
as possible a humiliation which I must smile 
at — if only for the sake of my unfortunate ally? 
At present, I am accused of caring too much 
for men who are ineligible although they are 
well born and distinguished. Observers should 
understand that it is just because these men 
never could be cast for the disagreeable role 
of my prince consort that I am grateful for 
their friendship. To shut myself up alone with 
women is out of the question: to be sane one 
must mix constantly with both sexes. A man 
who lives almost wholly among men soon be- 
comes more hysterical than any woman, or else 
more brutal than any beast; and a woman who 
spends her days with other women only soon 
becomes a tyrant or an imbecile. I am com- 
mended for my vivacity, my dancing, my riding, 
my conversation, my good looks, and my taste 
in dress. Alas ! there are hundreds of poor girls 
18 261 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


among my subjects who are much prettier than 
I am, and if they had my gowns, my jewels, 
and my environment, they would pass for god- 
desses. And when obscure honest men, who will 
work for them and support them, tell them that 
they love them, they can be sure that the love 
is true; whereas I must ever doubt every word 
that is said to me. But my life is full of interest, 
excitements, and events: I have no opportunity 
to analyze my emotions or to brood over my 
ideas. It is to me quite clear that if the ma- 
jority of healthy persons were perpetually un- 
happy, disappointed, or discontented, the whole 
order of living would have to change. The 
majority are, on the whole, disposed to think 
that all ends well that ends pretty well. It may 
be more fastidious to stand apart and complain : 
it may show a higher type of mind (I am 
not so sure about that — there is often a sinister 
side to much sublime thinking) : it is certainly 
not normal, and this particular world is em- 
phatically for the normal creature. It is true, 
all the same, that the most corrupt natures have 
a certain longing to idealize the hideous, and 
if they cannot understand the best idealism, they 
will take it in cheap, or grotesque, or false 
forms. Hence the success of so-called vulgar 
262 


CONTENTS OF A LITTLE BOOK 


sentimentality. But although it is vulgar, I see 
that it is a veil : its intention is to hide the uni- 
versal misgivings of mankind. How my people 
would laugh if they could read these somber 
reflections ! They do not know that I have been 
somber ever since I received my first offer of 
marriage — the one from Feldershey. I think 
it would have sobered any girl who had the least 
sensitiveness. Love — he never mentioned: life 
— he never hinted at: responsibilities — he had 
not even considered. He may not be vain, but 
I think he felt very sure of my affection for 
him. When I asked myself why I laughed at 
his proposal — which he made, I must own, in a 
charming manner — I know it was because I 
was so frozen and grieved by his flippancy. He 
would have taken my heart, my soul, and my 
body as one takes the odd tricks in a game. 
I felt humiliated. 

“ Why, pray,” asked that silly Baroness 
D’Albreuse, “ should you give him your heart, 
your soul, and your body? He never expected 
so much: ‘ Yes ’ and your cheek to kiss would 
have been quite sufficient.” 

But she does not see that a man who ex- 
pected so little would get still less from me, and 
a man who thought I had no more to give could • 
263 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


neither love me nor be able to call out the 
smallest spark of love from me. I should 
pity myself if I ever loved Feldershey — for he 
has an earnest expression and incurably trivial 
feelings. 

Nov . 14. — I am urged to find my happiness 
in my position. They always tell me that; but 
what is my position? Is it to be my one com- 
panion, my one refuge, my one solace for the 
fatigues of existence, and my one compensation 
for missing everything else in life? It is not 
enough — oh, no, it is not enough. People who 
pretend to think so are not alive. They have 
manners and clothes, they can talk and they can 
walk ; but they don’t live, and they cannot love. 
The difference between us is this: I do live, I 
can’t help living, and I might love — if I could 
find any reasonable excuse for a great affection. 

This morning the Chancellor Verneuil sat at 
my left during luncheon, the Grand Duke Con- 
stantine was on my right, and the conversation 
turned on friendship. Verneuil will never as- 
sume the burden of an original remark, and 
every sentence he utters is from some book. 
Following his custom, he observed on being ap- 
pealed to : 

“ Montaigne has said very admirably, speak- 
264 


CONTENTS OF A LITTLE BOOK 


ing of a friend, ‘ If absence be pleasing or bene- 
ficial to him, it is much more pleasing to me 
than his presence, and that may not properly 
be called absence where means and ways may 
be found to communicate with one another. 
We add to the benefit, and extend the possession 
of life, by being divided and far apart. Being 
together, one party was idle: we confounded 
one another. The separation of the place made 
the conjunction of our minds and wills the 
richer.’ ” 

The grand duke yawned with his eyes, and 
swallowed half a glass of Moselle: 

“ That,” said he, “ is the language of cynical, 
egoistic middle-age : it does not express the senti- 
ments of one-and-twenty.” 

I agreed with him, and if his profile had been 
better, I should have said so. But as he has 
a receding chin, and eyebrows which dart into 
the bridge of his nose, I pretended to support 
Verneuil, and I spoke beautifully about the 
delights of solitude. As a matter of fact, it 
kills me. 

Dec. 3. — My new diamond crown is beyond 
all my hopes a success, and I danced round my 
room like a madwoman when I saw it. How 
these so-called trifles improve one’s appearance ! 

265 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


Dec. 15. — I have tried my best to admire the 
Emperor’s nephew, Prince Charles de Joyeuse. 
He had been warned that my tastes were solemn, 
and when we first met he might have passed 
for the talking Catalogue of the Vatican Mu- 
seum. By degrees he has become more human; 
still, it is quite indifferent to me whether Goethe 
or Schiller is the greater poet, or whether Rem- 
brandt is superior to Rubens. All such questions 
are well enough in the evening; but when one 
has to raise a loan for the new Treasury Build- 
ings, and the people are complaining of the 
Army Tax, one is bound to lose one’s enthu- 
siasm for the fine arts. I encourage them, of 
course, because it is necessary to keep the nation 
good-humored; and music, pictures, literature, 
sports, and the drama are the best distractions 
when trade is bad and war is threatening. The 
prince leaves us to-morrow, and I do not think 
he will come again to Siguria. Our climate does 
not suit all constitutions. 

Jan. 15. — Another year begins, and I have 
had a letter from Feldershey. He asks how a 
woman can have at once coldness and charm; a 
vivacious air and a placid temperament; ama- 
zing naturalness and the most complicated arti- 
ficiality; absolute self-command and yet spon- 
266 


CONTENTS OF A LITTLE BOOK 


taneous manners. “ Your idol in this world,” 
he says, “ is Reason, and your ruling passion 
is your pride. You never forget yourself: you 
are capable of deep seriousness and also capable 
of the most ironic badinage: you excel in sar- 
casm : there is nothing more caressing than your 
sympathy. Yet, all the time, there is this Me — 
wrapped in the proudest self-esteem, and inac- 
cessible to any considerations which are not com- 
mended by the dry and prudent. I detest such 
prudence, and as for your cleverness, while one 
may admire, one cannot love a bel esprit .” I 
was foolish enough to cry over this unjust letter. 
When I think that I was born impatient, head- 
strong, and impulsive, and that Feldershey has 
been always too blind to see my real nature, 
I want to laugh and weep at the same moment. 
Often, when I have been weary, desperate, ill, 
rebellious, I have felt inclined to find absurdity 
in all the safe ideas. Yet I have put on the 
most serene smile, spoken in the gentlest tones, 
and insisted on the pleasures of a conventional 
life. Few things are so full of mockery as 
virtue, and if those who cannot maintain it have 
to endure a certain open contempt, those who 
remain steadfast often break their hearts in se- 
cret. Such is my terror of being called a prude 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


that I have committed many indiscretions, and 
given the gossips every opportunity to abuse me. 
Yet I suppose they know — for their inquisitive- 
ness is indefatigable — that I have no painful 
secrets. They do not forgive this, and Felder- 
shey himself racks his mind to find some other 
cause — than a desire to live honorably — in my 
views of love and marriage. If I wore grim 
clothes, sat in church all day, never laughed, 
never joked, never danced, and never spoke to 
men, they might perhaps call me dull, and ask 
God to bless me. But my passion for all that 
is beautiful and amusing baffles the hypocrites 
and annoys the desperate — because I really seem 
to enjoy myself without paying the penalties 
usually associated with every form of pleasure 
or gaiety. 

Jan. 25. — The most astute are bewildered, 
and the most cunning are foiled, by a policy of 
disinterestedness. I am called calculating, a 
fine mouche , a schemer, and one who plays my 
cards well. They think that I sit by my fireside 
imagining designs which work out with ex- 
traordinary advantage to myself. If I had 
interfered with my destiny — such as it is — it 
would have been a long chain of disasters; but 
I have left it to Providence. I have never, in 
268 


CONTENTS OF A LITTLE BOOK 


my life, taken the trouble to intrigue ; and I 
have never known intrigues to produce a success 
which would not have happened in the ordinary 
course of events. To be sure, I follow many 
of my impulses, because I have always found 
that after much reflection I reach my original 
decision, which came without any reflection at 
all. I have not yet answered Feldershey’s let- 
ter, because the mist between us cannot be 
cleared away by words. Once, long ago, I 
remember saying to him: 

“ How many women have you loved better 
than me? ” 

“ You have always held your own from the 
beginning,” said he. 

“ What do you call my own? ” I asked. 

“ The best of me, of course,” he answered, 
with that ingenuousness which he sometimes 
shows. 

“ What is the best of you? ” said I. 

“ My affection for you.” 

“ Oh, you have an affection for me? ” 

“ Isn’t that clear by this time? What is the 
use of saying to a woman, ‘ I love you ’ ? She 
knows it. You know it.” 

“ I do not,” I said. His notion of love and 
mine were not the same. This is why there 
269 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


was often a silent battle between us. Mopsle 
is right, although she is euphemistic. My cheek 
to kiss was something he could understand: he 
would have called all my ideas of devotion 
ridiculous, exacting, and uncomfortable. What 
a cruel world it would be if women loved men 
in no better way than so many men love wom- 
en. We have to redeem them from their own 
crudity: it is certain that they could never re- 
deem us from any degree of barbarism. 

April 14. — I intended to destroy this journal, 
but I will keep it — if only to remind myself 
how one changes. In some respects, however, 
I have not changed. I might express myself 
differently now, but there is always the same 
self to express. I see that so long as one can 
exercise outward self-mastery, one is accused of 
frigid egoism and bleakness of character. The 
temptations which are overcome, the interior 
contests and struggles count for nothing, and 
are unimaginable to those who follow every 
caprice and yield to every persuasion. Few have 
the generosity to acknowledge that, although 
high standards of conduct make for peace in 
the ultimate resource, the long discipline be- 
tween the beginning and the end is forbidding, 
forlorn, and so severe that one is usually too 
270 


CONTENTS OF A LITTLE BOOK 


weary to care much for the very thing one has 
striven for, and perhaps gained. The truth is 
that one is encouraged almost entirely by the 
far worse condition and disappointments of 
those who disregard the standards; for, if the 
souls who struggle against temptations are un- 
happy, those who succumb to them are incom- 
parably more so. But this is the end of journal- 
keeping. I am not yet twenty-three, and I feel 
older than the hills. Too much has been 
crowded into my life: there have been too many 
vicissitudes, too many changes; and things I 
have not experienced myself, I have inherited, 
I believe, from my father, who was first a phi- 
losopher, then a saint, then (so I am told) a 
libertine, and finally a butcher, or, as he is 
described on his tombstone, an illustrious de- 
scendant of the Emperor Charles V. He was 
certainly a brave soldier, and he perished 
violently at twenty-six. He left me a revolution, 
his knowledge of the world, and the price of 
two hundred thousand masses for his soul. No 
doubt, I am serious beyond my years. 


271 



CHAPTER XXIV 

WHICH ILLUSTRATES THE NECESSITY OF 
HEARING BOTH SIDES OF A 
GRIEVANCE 

HILE Margaret was reading her 
journal, Feldershey, in his saloon, 
was sorting out some papers in his 
despatch-box. He had not opened 
this box since his return from the campaign 
against the rebels, and he now intended to de- 
stroy the letters which he had addressed to his 
mother and his wife in the event of his falling 
in action. He tore, without glancing through 
it, the letter to his mother, and scattered the 
pieces out of the railway-carriage window. The 
letter to Margaret was long, much erased, and 
corrected. 

“ What on earth did I say?” he thought, 
and he broke the seal. This was what he had 
said : 



272 



BOTH SIDES OF A GRIEVANCE 


“My dear Margaret: This will be a 
hard thing to write, but I must tell you what 
I think of you, because I may never return; and 
although I don’t see much use in explanations 
and all that sort of thing, it might be a satisfac- 
tion to you, as you are so analytic, to know 
my point of view if I can possibly make it plain. 
Probably I sha’n’t, and you will put on your 
usual air, which can mean much or nothing. I 
don’t say that unkindly, but it is true. You 
are too subtle and peculiar for words : I admire 
your character in many ways (as you know), 
and if I could study you from the distance, I 
should content myself by saying that no other 
woman can touch you. But we have got beyond 
that stage, and I have to pull myself up and ask 
myself what is going to happen. I did not 
fall in love with you at first sight. (The days 
when you were a child do not count. I never 
saw a prettier child or a more tiresome one. 
That was not altogether your fault, as you were 
so spoiled and made so much of by everybody.) 
You interested me enormously when you were 
eighteen, but I hope you will not think I was 
quite such a fool as to suppose that you took 
any especial interest in me. I did not lose my 
head, and I was perfectly contented to be one 
273 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


of your numerous friends. I thought you had 
far too many men friends for a young girl, but 
it was not my business, and, in any case, I 
blamed your relatives more than I blamed you. 
I have been in love several times in the course 
of my life. You may have heard this from 
others, but no one except myself could tell you 
how much these affairs cut into me. I won’t lie 
to myself, and I can’t say that I am senti- 
mental. Still, I have been on the verge of blow- 
ing out my brains for two very exceptional 
women, and one utterly worthless one — whom 
I am ashamed to remember. The one I loved 
best died; the other one, who was brilliant and 
handsome, and a wonderful personality, was 
married; the last was pretty, and clever, and 
artistic, and half-mad, and no good. I would 
have made any sacrifice for her, and I gave up 
many years to her. She was impossible, and 
I must have been as mad as she is when I 
liked her. I don’t hate her now, but she bores 
me, and her tricks and airs and graces simply 
get on my nerves. Of course, you won’t really 
like hearing this, although I have made it short 
and toned it down, and left out a lot of passing 
fancies which I always knew were fancies. 
These three affairs I am now speaking of were 
274 


BOTH SIDES OF A GRIEVANCE 


not fancies, they were quite genuine, and it is 
by them that I am able to test my affection for 
you. You stand quite apart, and you came into 
my life in a way of your own. Although you 
did not care for me, you managed somehow to 
lead me on in spite of my better judgment and 
my common sense. There was never any love- 
making — but it was not a humdrum friendship. 
It was most absorbing, and it was like nothing 
in my experience. I dislike reminding you of 
the contradictory remarks you have made, and 
continue to make, but in one day you said, at 
five o’clock: 4 Yes, I do love you,’ and at half- 
past five you said: 4 I wish I could love you.’ 
Looking back, I see that I may have egged you 
on, but I must confess that I like to know where 
I am, and every man would say the same. In 
other moods, you are cautious and almost prud- 
ish, and you might be any age from sixteen to 
sixty — you are such a mixture of sedateness and 
the devil. Frankly, I have often thought you 
were capable of anything, and half the time 
I can’t make up my mind whether you are so 
innocent that it is almost inconceivable that any- 
body alive could be so innocent, or so deceitful 
that you would fool the very elect. When I 
am tempted to believe that you are deceitful, I 
275 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


feel as though I were going out of my mind. 
I keep telling myself that I am wrong, and I 
get quite satisfied for a time till something hap- 
pens, or you make some remark which hits me 
through and through with every sort of doubt. 
We could not have gone on like this. You won’t 
receive this letter unless I am done for during 
the skirmish, but if I am done for, I shall never 
call it a proper solution of the misery we have 
caused each other. It is all very well to laugh 
it off, but we need not keep up that farce at 
this moment. Even if you do not care for me, 
I know that you are disappointed in me, and I 
have told you that my feelings about you are 
very strange. I can’t describe them. I choke 
if I try to describe them, so there is no use 
reeling off stuff which isn’t it. I love you, and 
you may as well know it, because the love is not 
of my own choosing, and I have taken pride in 
crushing it down. I swear I will not be weak. 
The love has little to do with your presence or 
your absence — I have learned that much. I 
have often thought it absolutely hellish to be 
with you, and I have been almost glad to leave 
you and lose sight of you. That will show you 
how small a part the actual personal element of 
sex plays in my devotion to you. But I don’t 
276 


BOTH SIDES OF A GRIEVANCE 


deny for a minute that I have been superbly 
happy with you many times. You can be most 
fascinating when you choose and when you least 
know it. I am writing as though it were not 
my last letter to you. I want to blame myself 
for everything. It is awful to write like this. 
At the back of my head, I believe you have 
treated me badly. Perhaps you cannot help be- 
ing insincere — your life has made you artificial 
and selfish. As you are shallow yourself, you 
do not consider the depths in other people. But 
what I condemn you for is this: you use those 
depths for your own ends, or your own amuse- 
ment, or your own convenience. With you, it is 
Et puis , bon jour! in return for the use of a 
soul. (That is like one of your own remarks. 
I daresay you said it to me once. Quite likely.) 
I won’t reproach you. Life itself will do that. 
What I grieve over is the thought that it all 
so easily might have been different ! Or do we 
each, as mortals, have periods of blindness, and 
see each other and ourselves as we are not, and 
could never be? In that case, we are indeed 
the sport of the gods. Self-deceived and the 
deceivers of others, we play our part in a tragi- 
comedy, and perish. But whatever love is felt 
is felt necessarily, I am sure, and what is not 
19 277 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


felt, cannot possibly be felt. Good-by, dearest 
Margaret. Some of the past, so far as I speak 
for myself, was at least a beau reve. F.” 

Feldershey read this, and said: 

“ I thought it so when I wrote it. I meant 
every word. I’ll show it to her some day when 
we are happy ! ” 

So he sealed it up afresh, and replaced it in 
his despatch-box. 



278 



CHAPTER XXV 

THE EFFECT OF LOVE-SONGS AND VINEGAR 
ON THE HEART 



| HEY reached Venice about nine 
o’clock in the evening, and the 
magic of that city made them silent. 

They sat in their gondola and were 
rowed down the Grand Canal, under the stars, 
and past the dark palaces to the lagoon. Feld- 
ershey’s studio was near the public gardens, 
where there were few lights and not another gon- 
dola to be seen. The loneliness was not loneli- 
ness to Margaret: she was weary of crowds, 
and noise, and parade. Feldershey, when the 
gondoliers halted, helped her out on to the 
stone steps of his home, and opened its heavy 
carved door with his latch-key. She smiled at 
the strangeness of the experience : they had both 
been obliged to work against such elaborate 
complications in order to attain to this simplicity. 

279 



THE FLUTE OF PAN 


“ Your mother has transformed the place,” 
she said, looking around in astonishment; “ how 
charming ! how perfect ! ” 

“ Women transform everything,” answered 
Feldershey; “my mother has changed the 
rooms, and you have changed most of my ideas. 
Now — we ourselves must change. I want you 
to be happy here — I want to be happy here 
myself.” 

There were two piles of letters and telegrams 
on the table. 

“ Congratulations ! ” exclaimed Margaret. 

“Evidently!” 

She read several — till she came to a fifth, 
which sent a wave of color into her cheeks. 

“ I may as well tell you,” she said; “ this is 
from Rixensart. He is in Venice. I suppose 
he has come to quarrel with you.” 

“ A quarrel with Rixensart might be an ex- 
cellent thing for all of us,” said Feldershey 
irritably. 

Margaret concealed her agitation : 

“ I don’t agree. I am not jealous, as you 
know, but why should two men risk their lives 
for a woman like Bertha ? ” 

“ I’m very sorry that you saw me kiss her. 
The kiss meant nothing.” 

280 


THE EFFECT OF LOVE-SONGS 


“Then why kiss? Why let her think 
you wanted to kiss her? Why want to kiss 
her? ” 

“ I was just saying good-by — and she was 
unhappy. In reality, she bored me.” 

“ There was nothing in your manner which 
conveyed anything of the kind,” said Margaret, 
beginning to laugh. 

“ That is the Feldershey way. When we 
care, we don’t make love — we love ! ” 

“ And you don’t show your boredom — you 
kiss! That must be another Feldershey way. 
All the same, I can’t be miserable because of 
your lapse into the second Feldershey manner. 
I’m quite happy — at least, I’d rather be un- 
happy here, hoping to hear Pan play, than un- 
happy out there ” — she waved her hand in the 
imaginary direction of Siguria — “ where, if he 
played, he would never be heard! ” Her voice 
broke, but there were no tears in her eyes. She 
had exhausted all her tears during the war. 
Beyond a certain and fixed extreme degree, the 
capacity for feeling would seem to cease: the 
heart becomes stupefied by its own pain, and 
nothing any more can hurt it. Margaret was 
surprised at her own calm, which resembled in 
no way the calm of pride nor the calm of in- 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


difference: she still loved Feldershey, but he had 
lost his power to wound and grieve her. 

“What a magnificent night!” said Felder- 
shey, looking out of the window. “ Why can’t 
one see the moon without swearing at it, about 
it, or by it? We can dine at Danielli’s. It is 
not so lonely there.” 

“ I am not lonely, thank you,” she answered. 
Two singers, playing on mandolins, passed in 
a gondola, and Feldershey leaned over the bal- 
cony to hear their song. It was a very old one, 
but it pleased him. When he turned round, he 
saw Margaret unpacking the little silver sauce- 
pans and a kettle from her luncheon-basket. 

“ I was taught to use these things when I 
was a girl,” she explained. 

“ The photographs! ” said he: “ ‘ The Prin- 
cess Margaret preparing a workman’s Din- 
ner ! ’ ” 

“ Formerly, I cooked the dinner, but there 
was no workman. Now there is a workman.” 

“ Take care! ” said Feldershey hastily; “ just 
look at your hand. It is covered with flour and 
spirits of wine.” 

“ Please don’t watch me. You make me nerv- 
ous. Suppose we skip the soup and have salad? 
Do you prefer white vinegar or red? ” 

282 


THE EFFECT OF LOVE-SONGS 


“ D — n the vinegar! ” 

“ Consider it damned! ” she said gently. 

“ You can’t do this. It’s childish. It is out 
of the question. I won’t have it. I can’t see 
you in this barrack, this grotesque discom- 
fort ” 

“ I thought you found it so delightful? ” 

“ I was determined to find it delightful.” 

“ Then I can be determined too,” said the 
princess, cutting the bread. But she allowed 
him to push away the basket, and close its cover, 
and strap it down, as though its contents were 
all the devils of Pandora’s box. 

“ Margaret,” he exclaimed, “ this intolerable 
strain can’t go on! We have kept it up too 
long — it can’t go on ! ” 

“ What is to be done, then? ” 

She unloosened her cloak, and sat down on 
the rug by the log-fire ; for there was a chilliness 
in the night-air, or else in her own soul. 

“ We must come to some understanding. We 
cannot go on as we are. Remember when you 
came here that day — and — and — Well, that 
day I asked myself why you should pretend 
to care for me.” 

“Pretend!” 

“Yes, pretend! I had to find a reason — and 

283 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


I found it. Do you hear? I found it. You 
had a motive.” 

“ Certainly. I told you I was desperate — 
I begged you to help me. You did help me, 
and I’m grateful.” 

“ I hate gratitude — I don’t want it.” 

“ Then what do you want? ” 

“ I want your love,” he said quietly. 

“ I thought,” she answered, after a pause, 
“ that you merely wanted your own way ! ” 

“ No: I want you.” 

“ Well, I am here.” 

“ Yes, you sit there, but in reality we are 
leagues apart — not a step nearer than we were 
when we last met here after five years’ si- 
lence.” 

“ Whose fault is that? ” 

“ Remember how I had loved you ! I used 
to work away, always alone, in this old room. 
I painted that picture of Pan, hoping all the time 
that some day you would see it — and under- 
stand. I said to myself : ‘ When she sees it, it 
will tell her all the things I am too blundering 

to say.’ And then — when you came ” 

“ Yes, when I came,” said Margaret, “ why 
were you so rude? ” 

“Was I rude?” 


284 


THE EFFECT OF LOVE-SONGS 


“ Monstrously rude. But you are always 
rude — now.” 

“Am I?” 

“ Detestable. At Berkele, you would have 
left everything just to play croquet with me. 
Is there any croquet here ? ” 

“ Oh, do be serious! ” said Feldershey. 

“ Serious — again? Not for worlds.” 

Feldershey disliked her frivolous mood: 

“ I wish I’d been shot up there — in the 
hills ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ Don’t say that. But, can’t you see that I, 
too, am disappointed? On the day of our mar- 
riage, when you said such strange things to me 
— you hurt me. Perhaps you don’t believe me ; 
well — it doesn’t matter much. I’m a proud 
woman. If any one saw me now, they would 
never call me proud again. I am too wretched 
to care about pride — it is better to be natu- 
ral.” 

“ I’ve been to blame. I have been brutal,” 
said Feldershey eagerly; “ I know it. I de- 
serve no consideration from you. But you 
wouldn’t give me any explanation — you wouldn’t 
tell me the truth.” 

“ What truth? What are you talking about? 
I have always shown surely my — affection — for 
2 85 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


you; but you — if you have any affection for 
me — you keep it under. You distrust it.” 

“ Because it means so much more to me than 
anything else would mean. You could absorb 
my thoughts, my life, my soul, if only you 
would — oh, Margaret, don’t let us lose our hap- 
piness for we could be so happy if ” 

Some strong touch on the door-bell set a peal 
ringing through the rooms. 

“ That was the bell ! ” said Margaret. 

“ Let it ring! ” said Feldershey. 



286 



CHAPTER XXVI 

WHICH DESCRIBES THE FROU-FROU OF A 
SKIRT AND THE PIPING OF A GOD 

HE small person whose nervous but 
firm hand was operating on the bell 
wore a long silk motor-coat and a 
thick motor-veil. She rang until 
Feldershey opened the door, whereupon she 
rushed past him and threw herself, uttering 
terms of extravagant endearment, upon Mar- 
garet. 

“ Save me ! ” she exclaimed, and the voice was 
Bertha’s, “save me! I’ll never do it again. 
Don’t give me away! Back me up.” 

Her cousin met this appeal with cold interest: 

“ What is the matter? ” 

“ I left Siguria on Mr. Baverstock’s motor — 
we went together. The motor went very fast 
while it went, but, suddenly, it stopped ! Some- 
thing got on fire, and although we drenched 
the machinery with all our Apollinaris, it went 
287 




THE FLUTE OF PAN 


wrong. We had to wait for hours by the side 
of a dry ditch till a cart came by. Then we 
got a slow train, and traveled with eight in the 
compartment. I haven’t taken my hat off since 
we started three days ago — and I haven’t had 
a proper meal.” Here she sobbed. 

“And where is Baverstock? ” asked Mar- 
garet. 

“ He has caught a chill. He is ill in bed at 
Danielli’s. The doctor won’t let him get up. 
I think he is off his head.” 

“ And why did you come with Baverstock? ” 
said Feldershey. 

Bertha began to wriggle in her clothes; she 
pulled at her veil; she sought for her pocket- 
handkerchief. 

“ I may as well tell you,” she stammered. 
“ Harry and I decided to do ‘ the big thing,’ 
as he calls it, and make a bolt! I didn’t realize 
in the least what he fully meant. I thought it 
was badinage .” 

“ Strange badinage! ” observed Feldershey 
dryly. 

“ After the motor broke down,” continued 
the artless creature, “ I came to my senses, and 
I saw it wasn’t good enough. These great 
sacrifices are such a mistake.” 

288 


THE PIPING OF A GOD 


“ Then you saw that there was a sacrifice 
underlying Harry’s humor?” said Felder- 
shey. 

“ I’m only silly,” said Bertha, ignoring him 
and beseeching Margaret; “ there’s no harm in 
me really. You warned poor Harry. The day 
you met him here you said I wasn’t to be trusted. 
He told me so.” 

Feldershey turned to Margaret: 

“ What day did you meet him here? ” 

“ On the day you lent him this studio for 
half an hour! ” said Margaret. 

“ He asked me to meet him here. Margaret 
found it out, came instead, and made a fright- 
ful row. Didn’t you, darling? ” said Bertha. 

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Feldershey, 
inwardly cursing himself as a fool. 

“ I have wired to Frederic — 1 Margaret 
wants me. Am en route Venice ! That seemed 
the simplest thing,” said Bertha. “ And you’ll 
both stand by me, won’t you? ” 

“ Now I understand Rixensart’s telegram,” 
said Margaret to Feldershey. 

Bertha took off her cloak, and stood before 
them as neat a little figure as ever, with a 
smooth tight bodice, and a tiny waist, and any 
number of silk flounces round her under-petti- 
289 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


coat, which rustled and swished and swayed as 
she moved toward the looking-glass. 

But Margaret noticed a fine row of pearls on 
Bertha’s neck. 

“ Mine! ” she cried, without thinking. 

Bertha opened her eyes: 

“ As Harry paid so much for them,” she said, 
“ and sent the cheque for the children’s feast 
after your wedding, he gave the pearls to me. 
You really wouldn’t expect him to give you the 
pearls back again ! And the price went far be- 
yond their market value — although you had the 
cheque punctually to the very minute, without 
discount.” 

Margaret thought she caught the words “ Ig- 
noble spirit,” muttered through Feldershey’s 
closed teeth. 

“So Bertha is Baverstock’s lady!” he said 
presently. 

“Did you never guess that?” asked Mar- 
garet; “ I was always afraid you would! ” 

Bertha, who was organically tactful, strolled 
away toward the inner rooms. 

“ Margaret,” said Feldershey, “ you have 
beaten me in generosity at every point. If you 
have any spark of affection still left for me, for- 
give me. I hate myself. I have been a fool. 

290 



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THE PIPING OF A GOD 


Leave it at that. I’ve been wrong. I have 
been suffering from sleeplessness ! ” 

“ Perhaps,” said Margaret thoughtfully, 
“ that is the third Feldershey way. You don’t 
make love — you love; you kiss when you are 
bored; when you are wrong, it is because you are 
suffering from insomnia ! ” 

Before he could make any reply, they both 
heard most distinctly the first bars of the Wed- 
ding March in “ Lohengrin ” being played on a 
curious reedy instrument. 

“ Did you hear anything? ” said Margaret. 

“ Yes— I heard ” 

“ We both heard — ” The tune went on ; the 
two lovers in bewilderment joined hands, and 
followed the sound till they traced it to the 
statuette of Pan which the students had mended. 

“ It is the clock! ” shouted Feldershey. 

“ It is Pan playing for us — it is the flute 
playing for you, and perhaps for me!” said 
Margaret. 

Bertha peered round the doorway, and she 
fell to real whimpering at the sight of the two 
lost creatures at last in each other’s arms. She 
was never again quite so light-minded, and her 
laugh was ever afterward more kind. 

“ There is such a thing as true love,” she 
291 


THE FLUTE OF PAN 


would say; “ I have seen an instance of it with 
my own eyes ! ” 

Feldershey and Margaret did not remain in 
Venice. Sigurian affairs became tragical once 
more, and the Government, speaking through 
Prince Adolf and Count Rixensart, implored 
Lord Feldershey to take again command of the 
turbulent army. By the unanimous vote of both 
Senate-Houses and all the people, he was elected 
President. “ To lead men,” said they, “ we 
must have a man.” The princess saw in this 
proclamation the ample reward for her cou- 
rageous experiment. Feldershey could refuse 
her nothing, and, much as he detested responsi- 
bility, he accepted the Presidentship, which 
meant nothing less than working for eighteen 
hours, as a rule, out of the twenty-four. 

But the statue of Pan now stands on a marble 
pedestal in the center of the courtyard of the 
palace, and when the military band is not play- 
ing, it is possible to hear the sweet piping of 
Pan’s flute. Thus, the day’s work does not seem 
so hard. 

(i) 

November , 1900 — August , 1904 . 


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